


care and feeding

by limevodka



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Bad Sex, M/M, Multi, Open Relationships, Oral Sex, Threesome - M/M/M, Witchersexual Jaskier | Dandelion, but later there will be good sex!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:21:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26414092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/limevodka/pseuds/limevodka
Summary: Jaskier has been having frankly excellent sex ever since he and Geralt got their act together and fell into bed. So naturally he jumps at the chance to hop into bed with Lambert only to find that Lambert is, well, bad in bed. Awkward conversations, oversharing, actual emotional intelligence and eventually better sex (with threesomes!) are the goal here!Inspired by a post by crateofkate on tumblr - see notes for link!
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert, Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert
Comments: 72
Kudos: 324





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I took the original idea from a tumblr post imagining Geralt not being great at sex the first time G+J sleep together but if so I didn't save it bc i am a moron. If anyone finds a post like please let me know and I will credit accordingly.  
> EDIT: Found! Thank you to [crateofkate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crateofkate)who managed to both come up with this galaxy brain idea, then find her own [post!](https://crateofkate.tumblr.com/post/619273531480473600/just-once-i-want-to-read-a-fic-where-geralt-isnt)

Jaskier threaded his way through the crowd, dodging buskers and street performers, ignoring the snatches of song and the tantalising scents of roasting meat and fresh bread. He was sweaty and footsore, having set out before dawn to arrive at Novigrad just ahead of the festival’s official opening at noon. He had left Geralt at a nameless crossroads, promising to meet up again in a fortnight, once both Geralt’s contract and the bardic contest at the summer festival was over and they both had full purses and were ready to set out on the road again. The festival only ran for five days but artists from all over the Continent attended, with salons, lectures and informal workshops taking place for a few weeks after the official closing before the artists trickled out of the city until the next year.

Jaskier looked forward to the summer festival all year: it was a rambunctious event that took place at the height of the season. It was full of wine, music, food and dance, and offered a myriad of opportunities for a travel weary bard to enjoy himself, earn a nice pile of coin and spend a few nights sleeping indoors, in a comfortable bed, perhaps even in the company of fellow revellers. 

In fact, his main priority on entering Novigrad was obtaining that bed and, if he was lucky, a bath - all the better to refresh himself before he flung himself headlong into the revelry. 

***

Wearing his finest silks that had been unearthed from their safe hiding spot at the bottom of his pack and brandishing his lute, Jaskier emerged from the inn and wended his way through the crowd. He was engaged to play at various taverns and even at some private homes for most of the next week, but he had the first day free and he was determined to soak up as much of the atmosphere as possible. 

He dodged drunken revellers and picked a likely looking tavern almost at random, ordering an ale and making sure the tavern-keeper saw his lute, grinning as he fell into the familiar back-and-forth negotiation of a couple of hours of songs in exchange for ale and a decent meal. He swung his lute down from his shoulders and bounded to the top of the room, already beginning to strum the opening melody of a Skellige drinking song.

***

Lambert hunched over his ale, scowling at anyone who looked like they might be thinking of getting too close. He kept most of his attention on the crowd who had drifted into the tavern to hear Jaskier play but still managed to steal glances at the bard, his gaze catching on his bright silks, the metallic embroidery at his throat and wrists, and the sweat that glistened on his forehead as he played the crowd as skilfully as he played his lute. He was clearly Geralt’s bard, Lambert had caught traces of the other witcher’s scent on his clothes when Jaskier had passed by his table on his way to grab an ale during a brief break.

Lambert had to admit that his songs were catchy, even if they clearly took poetic ( _ hah) _ licence with the events described.

Even without Geralt’s scent though, he would know the bard’s songs anywhere - and really, did he actually give a shit if the songs were accurate or not when he had reaped the benefits of ‘Toss A Coin’ as the song had spread across the Continent?

The bard was clearly more than comfortable with an audience - he spun and moved as he played, moving through the crowd, drawing laughs as he winked and flirted outrageously with anyone and everyone. Lambert thought he was tucked far enough back that a human wouldn’t take much notice of him - the bard had obviously picked up a thing or two on his travels with Geralt though, as he passed through the crowd and jumped on a bench to bring his tune to a rising finale, he swept his gaze over his audience and locked eyes with Lambert, clearly surprised as he noticed the witcher’s eyes. He didn’t miss a beat though, recovering enough to throw Lambert a playful wink as he beat out the last of the rhythm with his steps and the crowd roared approval, clapping and thumping mugs on tables.

Still panting from the energetic performance, Jaskier accepted the tips thrust at him as he made his way over to Lambert and dropped down into the seat across from him. 

His eyes glowed with the adrenaline of a good performance as he grinned, clearly completely unafraid and for all the world appearing delighted to find himself not two feet from a scowling witcher. This was a novel situation for Lambert and he briefly forgot to scowl, before catching himself and scowling  _ even harder _ . 

Jaskier only grinned wider before reaching out and  _ stealing Lambert’s ale. _ Lambert was genuinely too startled to react to that - was Geralt’s bard  _ mad _ ? How had no-one mentioned that? Maybe intimidation was the wrong tactic here. Politeness might be the key to dealing with feral, ale-stealing musicians with no apparent fear of witchers.

“Do you have a fucking death wish, bard?” he asked in a conversational tone. 

Jaskier dropped the empty tankard back on the table and turned, gesturing to the barkeep for two more. 

“No,” he said sweetly, “but you might. What on earth are you drinking? Tastes like piss.”

He took the two fresh tankards from the serving girl and pushed one across the table to the witcher. 

“Look, Lambert, is it?” At Lambert’s cautious nod, he continued. “I’ve spent too long travelling with Geralt to be put off by a grumpy look, so cheer up. I’m thrilled to finally meet one of Geralt’s brothers and I’d be glad of some company, so unless you’re _enjoying_ sitting alone and drinking the bilgewater they’ve been serving you, please stop trying to scare me off. I promise I don’t bite, as a rule, though you may be able to talk me into it after a few more drinks.”

Jaskier took another mouthful of ale, keeping one eye on Lambert as the witcher seemed to digest his words. It only took a handful of seconds before those yellow eyes crinkled and the corners and Lambert smirked. 

“You’re certainly chattier than Geralt, bard, dunno how he hasn’t used you as drowner-bait yet if you always run your mouth this much.” 

Jaskier’s eyes narrowed, hiding his mirth. “My mouth has many uses, witcher, and so far the good’s outweighed the bad.”

Lambert sputtered, before throwing his head back and guffawing. “Alright, I’m starting to see the appeal. Get another round in and if you want, I’ll see what I can do to provide you with some good company, sweet thing.”

Jaskier beamed, and signalled the bartender.

*******

Lambert proved as good as his word and showed willing to spend hours telling Jaskier stories of hunts he’d been on (Jaskier only just managed to refrain from openly taking notes) and, delightfully, stories of  _ Geralt.  _ The bard honestly felt his heart might overflow with happiness. Geralt was certainly more open and communicative now than he had been when they’d first met, but Jaskier had never heard these tales before - Lambert seemed to relish making him laugh as he moved on from tales of fighting griffins and wraiths and told the bard of winters spent in Kaer Morhen, where weeks of being snowed-in resulting in stir-crazy witchers resorting to  _ pranks  _ to pass the time only to be scolded like children once Vesemir stumbled into a trap Geralt had set for Eskel in the library. 

Jaskier tipped over onto Lambert’s shoulder, wiping tearing from his eyes as he hiccuped laughter at the image of Geralt being scolded like a misbehaving child.

“Ah Lambert, stop! My stomach hurts. Gods, I would pay a fortune to have seen Vesemir shaking his finger at poor Geralt.” 

Lambert dared to slide his arm up and around Jaskier’s shoulders, pulling him in closer as he laughed himself. “You should come some year, I’m sure you’d liven up the winter. Might do Vesemir good to have someone new to take to task.”

Jaskier smiled, making himself comfortable against Lambert’s side. “P’raps I will next year, if Geralt hasn’t tired of me running my mouth and used me for drowner-bait before then.”

Lambert laughed, voice rumbling deep in his chest when he answered, “If you tease him too much about getting in trouble with Papa-Vesemir he might yet, bard. Tell you what, you show me some of those other uses for your mouth and I’ll tell you how worried you should be.” 

Jaskier hummed, considering, then pushed himself up, Lambert’s arm falling away.

“I may just yet, darling, but we’ve been here all day and, lovely as it has been, I do want to see some of the festival before anything else. Why don’t you grab a bottle of wine and we’ll see what trouble we can get into, hmm?”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” muttered Lambert as he dropped coin on the bar in exchange for a bottle of red, following Jaskier out into the dropping twilight.

***

Hundreds of happily drunk festival-goers still thronged the streets in the darkening evening, and after the third time a wine-smelling patron knocked into Jaskier, Lambert slung his arm over the bard’s shoulder, hauling him in close. Jaskier suppressed a shiver of delight at being pressed up against the heat of Lambert’s body, feeling the latent strength in his arm and smelling leather and sword oil, comfortingly familiar after so long with Geralt.

They stumbled through the crowd, Lambert letting himself be dragged along behind Jaskier whenever the bard heard a strain of song or music that caught his attention. 

They stopped to finish the bottle of wine while sharing a sweet roll from a vendor and watching a juggling act. Jaskier leaned into Lambert’s side again, muttering sly commentary on the alarmingly clumsy juggler meant for Lambert’s ears alone. He smiled up at Lambert, the witcher’s gaze caught on his flushed cheeks and tired eyes, still shining with mirth and wine. He leaned in close, his mouth to Jaskier’s ear.

Jaskier swallowed, suddenly feeling inexplicably nervous. Lambert slid his arm from Jaskier’s shoulders to his lean waist, the bard suddenly very conscious of the heat from Lambert’s body. 

Lambert’s voice rumbled, seeming almost impossibly deep as he spoke against Jaskier’s ear. “I have better wine in my room, bard, if you’ve seen enough for the day?”

  
Jaskier shivered. “Not quite enough, darling, I think there’s more you can show me this evening.” Not quite his best line, but he was pleasantly tipsy, and Lambert’s breath on his neck was  _ extremely _ distracting. “Lean on, witcher.”


	2. Chapter 2

Burgeoning arousal sparked low in Jaskier’s belly, wine and the flirtatious smile on Lambert’s face sending sparking shivers of excitement through him as he laced his fingers through Lambert’s and let himself be led back to the witcher’s lodgings. 

He’s been looking forward to this since he set eyes on Lambert earlier that day - Lambert may have been Geralt’s opposite in a multitude of ways but years spent with Geralt, gradually learning to trust each other, hearing stories of the Wolf school witchers and of couse the  _ sex -  _ sex with a partner who had literal decades of experience and inhuman stamina had quite possibly ruined him for mortal men and had led him to suspect that his preference for a partner might simply be  _ witcher _ . 

He was desperately curious about how Lambert, so much cockier and gregarious than Geralt, would be in bed. Geralt could be just as playful as Jaskier, when the mood struck him, but he was fundamentally  _ sweet _ . Jaskier loved Geralt with every fibre of his being but he couldn’t help but wonder how Lambert’s gregariousness and bawdy sense of humour would translate in bed, considered with a delighted twist of heat in his belly if Lambert’s mean streak would be brought to bear tonight as well. 

  
  


And he genuinely liked Lambert, completely separate to his feelings for Geralt. He’d been excited just to meet one of Geralt’s brothers but he hadn’t expected him to be so much  _ fun,  _ so open to spending the day trading stories and jokes with a total stranger. Jaskier knew how much bravery that took - despite his best musical efforts witcher’s were still more likely to be met with terror and disgust than with an offer of a drink. He squeezed Lambert’s hand almost without thinking and Lambert looked over at him, seemingly caught off guard for a second before he grinned and squeezed back. 

They looked at each other for a moment, gazes caught, before the air between them seemed to heat up, flirtatiousness pushed aside by a sudden crackle of urgent arousal and Lambert sped up, tugging on Jaskier’s hand as the urgency bounced between them, and they rounded the corner ahead of the inn that Lambert was lodging in. 

Jaskier almost stumbled up the stairs, rebounding off Lambert’s solid back as he stopped to unlock the door.

Never one to be shy, Jaskier followed in on Lambert’s heel and caught him by the shoulder, pulling him around and slamming their mouths together. The witcher looked briefly surprised, gold eyes widening, but let himself be moved, leaning into the kiss and crowding Jaskier back against the wall. He wasn’t really much taller than the bard but he still felt so much  _ bigger _ , one broad hand cupping the back of Jaskier’s neck as he reached down and unlaced their breeches with the other.

Lambert held Jaskier in place with just that hand, making Jaskier feel pleasantly like a kitten that had just been scruffed, weak in the knees from just a kiss and the strength in Lambert’s hold. He tipped his head up, leaving his neck exposed for Lambert’s mouth, knowing how much Geralt loved that - both the show of trust and the opportunity to press his face in close, to taste as well as smell the scent of Jaskier’s arousal.

Lambert did briefly push his nose to the soft skin behind Jaskier’s ear, but that was it, he pulled back and looked down as he pulled out Jaskier’s cock. He stroked it, not roughly, but with methodical determination, for all the world like he planned to get Jaskier off like that. Not that Jaskier objected to a quick handjob from a gorgeous man, especially a gorgeous man who was also a witcher and had the grip and sword calluses that after years with Geralt had an almost Pavlovian effect on him, but he had hoped to spend a bit more time enjoying Lambert before spending himself. 

He put his hands over Lambert’s, stilling his movement. Lambert did look up at him then, eyes wide and mouth still reddened from their kiss, pulling his hands away like he’d been burned. 

“Is that not - did you want --” he cut himself off, taking a step back. 

Jaskier reached out before he could move too far away, tangling his hands in the witcher’s shirt and reeling him back in. He kissed him reassuringly before pulling away. 

“Oh, I absolutely  _ do _ want, darling, but why don’t you let me take the edge off for you first, hmm? I know you can spend at least twice, no point in my rushing to the finish line,” he purred, before nuzzling at Lambert’s throat, feeling the witcher swallow hard as he slid his hands up under Lambert’s gambeson to stroke across the hard muscle of his belly.

Gods, neither of them had even paused to take their outer layers off, Lambert was still in his  _ armour.  _ He decided to move past that for now - Lambert didn’t seem to want to take it slowly. There was always the second round ( _ or even the third if all the wolf witchers had the same mutations _ ) for slow undressing and working each other up with exploratory touches - Geralt always preferred to keep the teasing for after he’d come once as well, taking the edge off so he could focus all his considerable abilities on making Jaskier scream.

Jaskier pressed one final biting kiss to the curve of Lambert’s neck, before pulling back and sliding down to his knees. He reached out and drew Lambert’s cock out of his breeches, a fresh wave of arousal rushing through him at the hot, heavy weight of it, his own cock throbbing in sympathy. He pressed the heel of his hand between his own legs to stave off some of the pressure before sliding his hand up to curve around the back of Lambert’s thighs, savouring the feel of tense muscles under leather trousers. He took Lambert’s cock in his hand and opened his mouth over the head of it, closing his eyes in delight at the sensation..

Lambert dropped one heavy hand to the back of his head, threading his fingers through the bard’s hair. Jaskier allowed it, letting Lambert guide his movements as he began to thrust shallowly. Jakier tightened his lips around the head of Lambert’s cock and sucked , fluttering his tongue softly just under the head. He was rewarded with a deep groan from the witcher, and a spurt of precome which he lapped up greedily, ducking his head down and taking Lambert as deep as he could.. 

He pulled off slightly, moving to kiss at the base of Lambert’s cock but was guided back by the hand in his hair - Lambert wasn’t forceful, he didn’t push Jaskier head down when he sat back to catch his breath, but he was clearly uninterested in anything more than straightforward cocksucking. Jaskier gave a little mental shrug and let Lambert slide back into his mouth - if Lambert wanted to keep it simple he certainly wasn’t going to refuse him.

He closed his eyes and focused on the weight of Lambert’s cock on his tongue, enjoying the sensations even if the act was a little more impersonal than he had expected - he had been looking forward to seeing what kind of reactions he could tease out of the witcher. Lambert had responded so eagerly to his cheerful innuendos and ever more blatant flirtation earlier, moving from shy compliments and unsure glances to more confident teasing as Jaskier kept reciprocating. He’d hoped that the same responsiveness would be evident in bed but no matter. Jaskier enjoyed nothing more than giving his partners what they wanted, and this was something he could give easily.

He didn’t have too much time to consider the matter in any case, as Lambert pulled him off his cock and lifted him to his feet, pressing a brief kiss to his swollen lips before leading him to the bed. The witcher hesitated with his hands on Jaskier’s waist, fingers flexing as he watches the bard’s face. 

“This all right, bard? We don’t have to --” Jaskier cuts him off with a kiss, softer than any they’ve shared so far, an inexplicably warm feeling rising in his chest at how cautious Lambert is being with him, how aware of the physical disparity between them. 

He smiles at Lambert, letting his arousal sound in his voice as he reassures him.

“I want this. I want  _ you _ , although you might start calling me by my name at this stage in our acquaintance,  _ witcher.” _

Lambert smiled almost shyly and kissed him again, pulling at the laces of Jaskier’s breeches and tugging them down over his hips before taking Jaskier by the shoulders and turning him around, bending him over the foot of the bed.

Jaskier could feel the coarse leather of Lambert’s breeches against the back of his thighs - gods, Lambert was still fully dressed - before the witcher cursed and dashed across the room to his bads, rifling through them and returning with a small bottle of oil. Jaskier took the opportunity to quickly kick his breeches off completely, leaving him bare from the waist down.

Lambert gently nudged Jaskier back down over the with a hand between his shoulderblades, pressing him down until the bard’s face was pillowed in his folded arms, one knee lifted up and resting on the bed. Jaskier’s skin prickled at the feeling of being so spread open, so conscious of the contrast between his own half-naked state and Lambert still fully dressed. 

He could almost feel Lambert’s gaze on him, sweat pricking up on the back of his neck, a whine forcing its way from his lips as he forced himself to hold still, unable to see Lambert, dying for a hand on him. His breath caught as he felt Lambert cup his arse, thumbs spreading him open, and he rocked his hips back into the witcher’s hands without quite meaning to.

He could hear Lambert’s pleased little snort at his eagerness, and the witcher squeezed his arse once before popping the cork off the oil. Jaskier shivered at the first cool touch of Lambert’s fingers, none of the witcher’s earlier strange hesitancy evident in the sensation.

He prepared Jaskier thoroughly but quickly, no teasing or unnecessary touch; one rough finger petted over his hole for a moment, slippery with oil, before carefully but purposefully sliding inside. Jaskier shuddered at the sensation, hole clenching as he tried to adjust while chasing more stimulation, greedy for it almost immediately. Lambert withdrew and then immediately returned with more oil and two fingers, sliding and scissoring as he spread the oil inside, free hand petting the small of Jaskier’s back when he jerked at the cold of the fresh oil. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Lambert muttered, twisting his fingers and stroking unerringly over Jaskier’s prostrate in an  _ extremely  _ distracting move. He spent a couple more minutes efficiently working Jaskier open before taking hold of his hips and guiding his cockhead to Jaskier’s oil-slicked hole. He slid in slowly, letting Jaskier adjust and, as he bottomed out, holding still until Jaskier growled at him to start moving. 

Jaskier was little surprised at the perfunctory nature of the penetration - not that he knew what he had really been expecting, exactly, but most of his partners enjoyed taking advantage of the opportunities to tease and play at least a little; Geralt in particular enjoyed using his mouth on Jaskier, often drawing out the foreplay until Jaskier was mindlessly sobbing for his cock. The dichotomy between the friendly banter and teasing he’d shared with Lambert earlier and this almost mechanical sex was making his head spin. He wasn’t  _ not _ enjoying it though, he did so adore getting fucked, especially by a partner as  _ blessed  _ as Lambert, so with a mental shrug, gave himself over to the sensation, clenching his hole around Lambert and savoring the deep groan that sounded like it had been dragged from the very depths of Lambert’s chest. Perhaps it was unfair to keep comparing Lambert to Geralt just because they were both of the Wolf school - after all Geralt had had years to learn how to make the bard howl, Lambert certainly couldn’t be expected to know 

Lambert thrust steadily into him, occasionally glancing over his prostate - enough to keep him hard, gasping into his folded arms as his cock jerked, but not quite enough to get him over the edge. He kept his hands on Jaskier’s hips, stroking gently with his thumbs when a perfectly angled thrust made Jaskier stiffen and whine.

Lambert’s thrusts sped up ever so slightly and his rhythm faltered for half a beat, the only warning Jaskier had before the witcher pressed his hips to Jaskier’s arse and came, gasping the bard’s name just once before he pulled out. Jaskier hissed at the sensation of come slipping out of him, caught between the sudden frustrating emptiness of his hole and the insistent throbbing of his own cock, so far neglected. 

Lambert stepped back and let Jaskier stand, leaning in to kiss him again once the bard turned around. His gaze caught on Jaskier’s still-hard cock. He looked up, puzzled. 

“You didn’t get yourself off? Do you, um, want me to -?” 

“Yes!” Jaskier sounded embarrassingly desperate to his own ears. He took a breath, willing himself to calm down before meeting Lambert’s eye determinedly. He forced himself to tread gently, Lambert had thus far shown no real inclination to touch him and he didn’t want to press for more than the witcher was willing to give.

“Yes, please darling, I would love your hand. If you’re willing?”

Lambert nodded, looking down at Jaskier’s cock before spitting in his palm and reaching out.

Oh, alright, just where they were standing then. Jaskier had thought maybe they might make use of the bed but he could get on board with this. He had clearly misunderstood what Lambert was looking for out of this but he could absolutely go along with quick and dirty if that’s what Lambert wanted. 

Jaskier did allow himself to lean forward and briefly press his forehead to Lambert’s shoulder, tangling one hand in Lambert’s shirt as the other hand joined Lambert’s on his cock. He tipped his head up and buried his nose in Lambert’s neck, smelling leather and herbs, a familiar combination that, in tandem with Lambert’s hand on his cock and the pleasant soreness of his hole, was almost enough to tip him over the edge.

He groaned into Lambert’s throat, letting the witcher take his weight for just a second before rocking back on his heels and looking down at their hands on his cock. He sped their movements up, thrusting helplessly into Lambert’s grip once, twice more before coming with a bitten off moan. The witcher gave him one last gentle stroke, making him shiver with oversensitivity, before pulling away and moving to rinse his hands at the wash basin. 

Jaskier swayed briefly, suddenly feeling cold and a little bit lonely, standing by himself in the middle of the room still dazed by his orgasm. He pulled himself together enough to catch the clean wet rag Lambert tossed gently at him, cleaning himself off and yanking his pants back on. 

He felt hesitant, not something he was used to especially with someone he’d just fucked, as the silence between them seemed to grow oppressive.

“Well!” he said brightly, before stopping, unsure of how to continue. He forced himself to meet Lambert’s eyes, wanting still to go to him, kiss him and undress him and curl up in bed with him to sleep off the impending hangover but he was horribly unsure if that much intimacy would be welcome.

Lambert was looking more than a little unsure himself, shifting his weight before seeming to steel himself and crossing the room in three determined steps.

He slid one arm around Jaskier’s waist and tugged him in close, cupping his jaw and kissing him surprisingly gently before stepping away and looking down at his feet.

“I’ll be in town for a couple more days, ba-  _ Jaskier,”  _ he corrected himself, looking hopeful. “I’m waiting for repairs on my swords, so, um, if you’re not busy, I might see you around?” 

Jaskier didn’t know whether to laugh or storm out. This brush-off was so awkward as to be almost charming - he would have expected Lambert to be a bit more brusque about ushering him out now he was done with him.  _ At least I didn’t try to cuddle up in his bed,  _ he thought bitterly. 

He laughed abruptly - it sounded more like a scoff and was more than a bit taken aback at the sudden hurt in Lambert’s face as the witcher took a half step back again, hands moving behind his back like a child caught eyeing treats. Despite himself, Jaskier softened, ducking down a bit to meet Lambert’s downcast gaze and giving him a small smile.

“I’m performing most evenings, darling, but if you’re still in town on the last night of the festival I’ll be taking part in the final competition. Afterwards I’ll be free as a bird and looking for company to spend my winnings with.”

Lambert smirked, a flash of his natural cockiness returning. “Sound pretty sure of yourself there, sweet thing.” He coughed, a look of alarm flashing through golden eyes, before hurriedly continuing. 

“Not that you shouldn’t be! Um.  _ Fuck.  _ Fuck, just look for me after the contest and I’ll help you celebrate any way you want.”

Jaskier winced internally, unsure that he wanted a repeat of the evening, despite much he had enjoyed Lambert’s conversation and stories, and how desperately he wanted to know more about this side of Geralt’s life, to spend time with his beloved witcher’s beloved family

He held onto his smile though, nodding and bidding Lambert farewell as he moved to leave. Lambert watched him for half a second before something seemed to occur to him and he gracefully around Jaskier to open the door for him. 

He hesitated for a brief second before pecking an awkward kiss onto Jaskier’s cheek, seeing him off with a muttered ‘Good luck, bard.”

Jaskier found himself outside the inn still feeling confused and vaguely unsatisfied - he ruminated on the evening as he trudged back to his own lodgings. 

Perhaps he was too used to Geralt, to a lover that knew exactly how to touch him to make him melt? No, that wasn’t it - they each had plenty of casual dalliances and Jaskier’s own sex life outside of his relationship with Geralt ranged from excellent to aggressively mediocre. Uninspired sex didn’t usually leave him feeling quite so out of sorts.

the sex with Lambert had certainly felt passionless somehow but what was really bothering him was that the lack of passion simply didn’t match up with the man with whom he’d passed and extremely pleasant afternoon. with. Surely Lambert hadn’t pretended an interest in Jaskier just to tumble him? No, surely not. From what Geralt had said and what little Jaskier had seen, Lambert could be mean and crude but not cruel and certainly not manipulative. 

As he arrived back to his own blessedly soft bed, Jaskier resolved to put it out of his mind - if Lambert did attend the contest at the peak of the festival to seek him out then surely he’d have his answer. If Lambert truly was interested in more than a quick, impersonal tumble, he could certainly get that elsewhere during the festival without having to venture into crowds of humans to seek out Jaskier again specifically, what with local brothels doing a roaring trade, barely able to keep up with demand -- Oh. Hm.

Something fell into place in Jaskier’s mind, even as he laughed at himself for adopting Geralt’s speech patterns in his own head - that was what the sex had reminded him off. A brothel where the workers were clearly bored or tired or paid by act rather than time - where it made sense for the woman he was with to want to get him off and get him out as quickly and efficiently as possible.

This certainly bore further consideration - after a proper bath and after he had slept off the hangover he could already feel beginning to creep in. Exhaustion suddenly pressing down on him he barely managed to strip out of his doublet and boots before faceplanting on the mattress, thoughts of Lambert quickly becoming less pressing than thoughts of sleep and the week ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up - more Jambert (is that the ship name? idk), not as much talking about things as there should be and Geralt will finally show up!
> 
> I have also added the open relationship tag - if I have missed a tag you feel should be there, please let me know. 
> 
> Concrit welcome and also please feel free to point out typos etc, I will fix!


	3. Chapter 3

Jaskier knew from the second he stepped foot on stage that he was going to walk away with the winner’s purse. He knew himself, knew that sometimes he was more optimistic than perhaps was warranted but from the first note he sang everything fell perfectly into place. 

The song he played was new, he had saved it to debut at just this moment. It told the story of Geralt fighting a griffin and, improbably, rescuing the child it had stolen to feed its young. The audience was swept along with his jubilant energy as he swept from the ominous opening notes to a frenetic, foot-stamping crescendo wherein Geralt leapt onto the beast’s back as it tried to take wing **.**

He was so caught up in the tale he was weaving with lute and voice that he almost forgot to scan the crowd for Lambert, but in the end it wouldn’t have mattered. The absolute  _ sweetheart  _ had fought his way through the crowd to a spot at the front, where even human eyes couldn’t miss him. Jaskier felt his heart thump hard and he had to fight to keep the grin off his face. He knew how unpleasant crowds like these could be for witchers. the sounds and scents overwhelming to mutated senses and he was touched that Lambert would suffer it for a bard he had known for less than a week.

He did catch Lambert’s eye and throw him a deliberate wink, spinning away before he could see the witcher’s reaction. He kept half an eye on Lambert for the rest of his performance, unaccountably eager for the good opinion of someone he had only really met a week ago. Lambert did scoff exaggeratedly at the rather dramatic retelling of Geralt leaping atop the griffin, silver hair and silver sword flashing, before returning with the child cradled in one arm, but he cheered as loudly as anyone else when Jaskier hummed the final note and took a bow - even letting loose one startlingly loud whistle.

Jaskier didn’t quite know what to expect when h e bounced up to Lambert afterwards, lute on his back and coin pouch round his neck, but he certainly wasn’t complaining when Lambert dragged him to a quiet corner behind the stage, slid a hand around the back of his neck and kissed him. He swayed forward and made a small sound when Lambert pulled back after too-brief a time, his blood still up from a good performance, suddenly not caring that they were in public and only wanting  _ moremoremore.  _

It’s only a burst of raucous shouting from a group of passing revellers that brought him back to himself. He huffed, a little embarrassed at his own neediness, especially after Lambert had shown no inclination towards the same during their night together.

He pulled himself together and forced a smile, pushed his arousal and performance-adrenaline down until he felt a little less like he might come out of his skin. He took a half step back from Lambert, ignoring the urge to press himself back up against the witcher’s strength.

“Well?,” he asked, looking up at Lambert with playful mock-coyness. “I believe I told you I would win, so no surprises there but what did  _ you _ think of my song?”

Lambert’s teeth flashed as he grinned back, gentle teasing in his tone.

“Does Geralt know you’re making up lies about him, bard? A griffin can carry off maybe a large sheep. A calf  _ at most _ . I’d hate to see that griffin that could get off the ground with Geralt sitting on it.”

Jaskier sniffed. “ You’re as bad as your brother. As I told Geralt, truth cannot be allowed to get in the way of a good story. In any case, he did sort of fall out of a tree on top of it, the rest is artistic licence.” He felt a happy flush as Lambert guffawed at the image, chuckling a little himself as he continued. “He did save the little girl though! I definitely think that saving children means you get things like falling out of trees rewritten in the songs.”

Lambert nodded, mock-serious. “He must have saved a whole schoolhouse given the pictures the rest of your songs paint. Don’t forget, I’ve actually met him.  _ And  _ seen him too hungover to stand. The white wolf of song and story is a bit less impressive once you’ve seen him puking over the castle wall.”

He moved in closer, voice growling and teasing tone gone. “And how many kids do  _ I _ have to save before I get you singing my praises, bard? I’ll start keeping a count.”

Jaskier laughed, and reached out to grasp Lambert’s hand. He took a step back, pulling the witcher along with him as he teased. “Enough wine and I’ll write the most stirring epic you’ve ever heard, witcher. Come, inspire me. We’ll find a tavern and you can tell me about all the grateful villagers you’ve saved.” Heat bloomed in his gut as he met Lambert’s yellow eyes, pupils blown wide as Jaskier stroked his thumb over the inside of his wrist. Jaskier swallowed at the arousal he saw there.

“Or perhaps you’re already inspired, sweetheart? I think I remember where your room is. - why don’t we see if you can get me singing your praises tonight?”

Lambert growled again, making Jaskier shiver as he pulled the bard in for one more hard kiss before stepping back and letting himself be led through the crowd. Jaskier consciously forced himself to slow his breathing, mind turning over the possibilities. He hadn’t had too much time to dwell on the last evening he had spent with Lambert, his performances and nights spent drinking and chatting up potential patrons had occupied most of his time for the festival week, but he remembered the odd thought he’d had about the mechanical nature of the sex they’d had. That, in combination with Lambert’s easy willingness to follow Jaskier’s lead as they moved through the crowd, was giving rise to some very interesting thoughts about how this night might go.

Once they reached Lambert’s room, he followed the witcher through the door easily enough, but dodged back when Lambert reached for him.

“Wait,” he said, one hand coming to rest on Lambert’s arm. “Let me.”

Lambert looked at him cautiously, he had frozen where he stood when Jaskier sidestepped out of reach, but Jaskier could see him subtly scent the air and he was obviously reassured by whatever Jaskier smelled like. Lambert nodded agreeably, letting his hands drop to his side and visibly relaxing his stance. He cocked one eyebrow at Jaskier, a clear look of expectant curiosity in those yellow eyes.

Jaskier leaned in and kissed him, one hand still pressed to his chest, just that slight restraint enough to hold Lambert in place. Every time Lambert tried to deepen the kiss, Jaskier pulled back just a little, until Lambert was letting Jaskier do exactly as he wanted - tongue gentle enough to tease, with just a hint of teeth. He kissed him for long minutes, ignoring his burgeoning arousal, only easing back once Lambert’s breaths were starting to edge over into soft moans.

Lambert’s pupils were blown wide when Jaskier pulled back, leaning slightly into the restraining hand on his chest that was the only point of contact between them. His tongue flicked out briefly, chasing the sensation on swollen lips, but he didn’t move aside from that, waiting to see where Jaskier would lead next.

Jaskier considered him for a moment, enjoying the strength in the chest under his fingertips as a plan fell into place in his mind. He dropped his hand, instead reaching down to toy with the hem of Lambert’s shirt, enjoying the small intake of breath this dragged from the witcher.

He was careful to keep his voice gentle when he spoke, a tone meant to coax without ordering. If his conclusions were right, this would be a novel experience for Lambert and he absolutely could not risk coercing him into allowing Jaskier to cause him discomfort. 

“Will you let me take charge tonight? I’d like to find out  _ exactly  _ how to make you come harder than you ever have before.” He waited, consciously keeping his gaze soft.

Lambert looked like if it were physically possible, he might have been blushing. He opened his mouth and closed it again, still looking dazed, before he visibly pulled himself together and nodded.

“YES!” He stopped, looking adorably embarrassed at himself, then cleared his throat, tried again. “I mean,  _ yes,  _ if you want to, that’d - that’d be okay.”

Jaskier beamed, swooping in to kiss him again, before taking him by the shoulders and walking him backwards towards the bed. He secretly thrilled at how willing Lambert was to let himself be led, trusting Jaskier to steer him safely to where he wanted him. He stopped, guided Lambert to sit on the edge of the bed, and kissed him again as a reward.

Lambert’s eyes didn’t leave his as Jaskier dropped to his knees between his legs, stroking gently from knee to ankle before unlacing his battered leather boots, pulling them off and carefully setting them aside, socks pulled off as well and tucked safely inside. He dropped a brief kiss to Lambert’s clothed knee before reaching for the laces of his breeches. 

He hesitated for a brief moment, catching sight of Lambert’s hands. He had pressed them to the bed at his side, almost shoved under each thigh. Jaskier smiled gently at him. 

“You can touch me as well, you know,” he murmured, his voice carefully devoid of any judgement. 

Lambert swallowed, looking lost, before carefully setting his hands on Jaskier’s shoulders, stroking the sides of his throat with his thumbs. Jaskier  _ purred _ , leaning into Lambert’s grip. 

“Oh, that’s  _ lovely,  _ darling,” he said, smiling up at Lambert as he again moved to loosen his breeches, mostly avoiding his already half hard cock but allowing himself a few teasing touches just to see if he could make Lambert squirm. “Touch me wherever you want, alright? I’ll tell you if I want you to do something different, and you can tell me the same, but I want you to enjoy this. Don’t hold yourself back.”

Lambert nodded, hand growing more confident as he slowly traced Jaskier’s cheek with one finger, before daring to gently run that finger over the bard’s lower lip. Jaskier winked at him, nipping that finger playfully before kissing it, as Lambert’s breath caught. 

Jaskier clambered to his feet,  _ oof- _ ing in a half-joke. He may be fit from spending months at time trekking around with Geralt, but he’d had a hectic week and was beginning to feel it - he was grateful for Lambert moving to hold his waist, steadying and supporting him as he rose. He returned the favour, drawing Lambert to his feet again and sliding his hands under his loose shirt, taking a happy moment to just explore and let the sensation build - petting the soft skin of Lambert’s belly, feeling the muscles under his hand jump as he stroked the soft hair just under the witcher’s navel. 

He played for a moment, leaning in to kiss Lambert’s neck, his chin, as Lambert fisted his hand in the back of Jaskier’s shirt and visibly fought to let Jaskier set the pace and keep from reaching for his own cock. Eventually though, after the shirt had thwarted Jaskier’s attempts to bite at Lambert’s collarbone, he pulled back. Lambert laughed at the petulant look on the bard’s face before he stuttered out a moan as Jaskier drew his shirt up and off, then dipped straight in to press a biting kiss just above his nipple.

Jaskier smirked as he felt the moan reverberate through Lambert’s chest, the witcher sliding one hand up his back to tangle in his hair, very  _ carefully  _ not tugging. Jaskier didn’t push, he had a feeling this was all new territory for Lambert. As much as he’d like to break through some of that restraint before he was done, he knew that it took time to build trust with a partner, he certainly didn’t want to goad Lambert into ignoring his own comfort. It had taken time for him and Geralt to reach that level of trust with each other, he couldn’t begrudge Lambert the same.

Instead, he tilted his head to kiss the soft, scarred skin on the inside of Lambert’s forearm, keeping eye contact as he nudged his loosened breeches off his hips. He couldn’t help the appreciative hum he let out as the witcher was laid bare before him, his cock just as large as he remembered. Jaskier’s mouth almost watered at the sight of the precome already gathering on the head of Lambert’s cock. Lambert smirked at Jaskier’s obvious enjoyment of the sight, some of his natural cockiness returning as the scent of Jaskier’s arousal grew stronger - a musky, spicy scent that stoked the fire in Lambert’s own belly.

He drew the bard closer to kiss him again, he’d barely kissed him at all the first time and seemed to be determined to make up for it now - licking into Jaskier’s mouth and swallowing the bard’s heated gasp. Remembering Jaskier’s promise that it was alright to touch him, he slid one hand to the back of Jaskier’s thigh and pulled it up around his hip, enjoying the feeling of Jaskier’s silks against his bare skin, growling deep in his chest as he thrust against Jaskier’s own cock, the combination of smooth silks and Jaskier’s obvious arousal driving him wild even before Jaskier tipped his head to the side and guided Lambert’s mouth to his bare throat.

Heat blossomed in Jaskier’s belly as Lambert  _ snarled _ , pressing biting kisses to his pulse point before just burying his face against his neck and scenting, inhaling the intoxicating scent of happy arousal that poured off his skin. That scent, in combination with the complete lack of  _ fear _ , was making Lambert’s head spin.

Jaskier allowed it for a few minutes, stroking Lambert’s back soothingly until the witcher seemed somewhat less overwhelmed. He only had to press lightly on Lambert’s shoulder before the witcher released Jaskier’s leg and stepped back, cockiness fled, searching Jaskier’s face for any hint of fear or discomfort with his obvious display of inhuman behaviour. 

Jaskier’s heart hurt at the nervous look on Lambert’s face and he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out, cupping Lambert’s face and murmuring reassurance.

“I just thought perhaps you shouldn’t be the only only unclothed, sweetheart - hardly fair, is it?” He smiled as some of the tension dropped from Lambert’s shoulders. “Besides, these silks weren’t cheap and if we didn’t slow down a bit, I was absolutely in danger of ripping them off myself.” 

He nodded towards the bed. “Why don’t you get comfortable, darling, and I’ll get these off, hm?”

Lambert nodded eagerly, nearly tripping over his own discarded boot as he tried to round the bed and watch Jaskier strip at the same time. He cursed, his scowl melting into a reluctant smile as Jaskier laughed at him, not unkindly. 

The bard stripped in record time, his own arousal making him a little too impatient to make a show of it, not to mention there really was no way he’d yet found to make yanking his boots off sexy. He’d try sometimes, mostly to make Geralt laugh, but he had yet to succeed.

Once he flung the last of his clothing off, he straightened and it was his turn to feel a little smug as he looked to the bed. Lambert was staring at him, mouth slightly open and one hand on his cock. Jaskier’s own cock throbbed in sympathy, but he ignored it for now, stepping over to where Lambert sat at the head of the bed and climbing straight into his lap, making himself comfortable on Lambert’s thighs.

Lambert took his weight easily, but his hands still hovered, unsure, before Jaskier took them and moved them to his hips, letting Lambert steady him as he moved to kiss him.

He paused, just before his mouth met Lambert’s, and whispered: “It’s quite all right, you can touch me, remember? I promise I want you to.” 

He could feel Lambert shiver as his breath played across the witcher’s lips and closed the distance. He kept the kiss soft and sensual, his tongue just barely teasing at Lambert’s lips. He rocked his hips,  _ hm- _ ing in approval as he felt Lambert tentatively move to stroke at his back, one strong hand between his shoulderblades as the other wrapped around his lower back, tugging his hips forward.

Their mouths parted, both of them groaning as their cocks met, pressed between their bellies and suddenly the mood shifted from slow and sensual to urgent. Lambert was almost panting, looking down at where they were pressed together. He reached down between them, one hand almost big enough to encompass them both and stroked. Jaskier dropped his head back, briefly overwhelmed at the sensation. He whined as he felt Lambert’s thumb swipe over the head of his cock, collecting the precome gathered there and using it to slick his strokes.

Jaskier could feel his peak approaching far too quickly and it was only with a frankly monumental effort of will that he forced himself to stop Lambert’s hand. Lambert looked up at him, startled, and Jaskier cupped his jaw, leaning forward to press their foreheads together. It took him a second to remember how to speak, his tongue felt clumsy with desire and his aching cock leaving him breathless.

“Okay,” he whispered, eyes falling shut as he focused on Lambert’s forehead pressed against his, Lambert’s short, panting breaths making it clear that Jaskier wasn’t the only one on edge. “Okay, just - just let me get the oil. I want to make it good for you, okay?” 

Lambert nodded, a moan torn from him as Jaskier shifted his weight to climb off the bed. He released his grip on Jaskier’s waist only with reluctance.

Jaskier darted across the room to the small table, shuffling through the mess of potion ingredients and scraps of leather before letting out a triumphant little  _ hah! _ , whirling to face the bed. He stopped dead, arousal shooting through him so fast his knees nearly buckled as he took in the sight before him: Lambert sprawled at the head of the bed, hair a mess, cock red and angry, eyes dark as he stared at Jaskier like he wanted to devour him. 

Jaskier swallowed, suddenly desperate to feel that cock deep inside him again as his own cock throbbed in sympathy. He passed a trembling hand over his face, willing himself to calm down and remember that he had  _ plans _ . He was going to take his time with Lambert, fuck him in a way that was so much more than just scratching an itch, do so much better than their last time together. He was going to - oh,  _ fuck it.  _

He stumbled back over to Lambert, suddenly desperate to be touching him, longing to feel all that hot skin against his own, to feel the strength in those broad shoulders holding him up as he fucked himself on Lambert’s cock. He swung his leg over Lambert’s hips and dropped down into his lap, whimpering as he pressed forward, unable to stop himself from thrusting just a little against Lambert’s stomach. Lambert looked a little taken aback by Jaskier’s sudden urgency, but far from displeased, running rough hands over Jaskier’s flanks before taking hold of his waist, holding him in place. Jaskier only had a second to squirm against Lambert’s grip, his mewl of displeasure cut off by Lambert’s mouth.

Jaskier moaned into the kiss, letting Lambert hold him steady as he popped the cork on the oil with one hand, the other touching Lambert wherever he could reach, too frantic to settle anywhere. 

He eventually pulled back from Lambert’s mouth, leaning up to balance on his knees so he could reach behind himself with oiled fingers. Lambert took advantage of the new position to tip forward and bury his face in Jaskier’s throat again, pressing biting kisses that were sure to leave marks as he revelled in the spicy scent arousal that  _ poured _ off the bard.

Jaskier panted, desperate to get  _ closer,  _ frantically twisting his own fingers inside himself as he worked himself open, pushing the oil as deep as he could given the angle, knowing it wasn’t enough and not caring.

He pushed himself upright and grasped Lambert’s cock, revelling in the snarl it pulled from the witcher’s throat as he stroked the remainder of the oil onto it before guiding it to his entrance. He pressed just the head inside himself, eyes rolling back at the sensation. He steadied himself on Lambert’s broad shoulders, letting the witcher take some of his weight as he slowly but without hesitation sat all the way down. He keened at the feeling of Lambert’s thick cock filling him up, just on the wrong side of too much until Lambert took hold of his chin and kissed him, holding him still with a careful hand on his face as his other hand stroked at where Jaskier was stretched around him, soothing the taut muscle and adding more oil.

“Alright?” Lambert pulled back just enough to mutter the question against Jaskier’s mouth, a sharp intake of breath and a brief spasm of his fingers his only outward reaction as Jasker groaned and experimentally clenched around him. 

Jaskier nodded, breathless, words lost to him. He rocked his hips carefully, once, twice, before forcing himself to reassure Lambert, whose growing worry was written clear across his face.

“Y-yes, I’m okay. Just - just give me a minute.  _ Fuck,  _ you’re big.”

Lambert let out a choked laugh at that as he kept carefully stroking at where they were joined, the maddening gentleness of his touch giving Jaskier something to focus on.

Jaskier took in a deep breath, then another, and felt himself relax, just enough that the sensation tipped from pain into incredible fullness, into his body’s demand that he  _ move.  _

He slowly rose up, eyes locked on Lambert’s, the witcher’s struggle to keep his own hips still until Jaskier gave the okay written clearly in the strain around his eyes.

Slowly Jaskier began to move, lifting himself and carefully, carefully lowering back down, gradually speeding up without even noticing until his thighs were burning, his breath coming fast - his focus was completely on the incredible sensation of Lambert’s thick cock inside him, his hips angled perfectly to hit his prostrate every time.  _ God, Lambert felt so huge inside him, filling him perfectly.  _ He was so focused that he nearly wailed when Lambert moved to grasp his cock, stroking in time as Jaskier bounced on him. Lambert slid his other hand under Jaskier’s ass, helping him move as his legs began to shake.

Jaskier leaned in to kiss Lambert as he felt his peak approaching, clenching himself around him as much as he could, determined to drag Lambert over the edge with him. The kiss was messy, teeth clacking, eventually they were just pressed together, Jaskier’s mouth falling lax under Lambert’s as he came so hard he thought he might have screamed.

The helpless sounds of pleasure Jaskier made were enough to tip Lambert over the edge as well, spilling deep into Jaskier’s welcoming body as the bard went limp atop him, overwhelmed by his orgasm. He wrapped his arms around Jaskier, holding him close as he came back to himself, sweaty and sticky and sated.

Jaskier sighed once, dreamily, before struggling upright. He stayed in Lambert’s lap still, enjoying the closeness and reluctant to have him pull out just yet. Some of Lambert’s hesitancy returned, he left his arms loosely around the bard but was carefully not touching him anywhere else now that they were done. Jaskier suppressed a sigh, simply nuzzling close to wrap his arms around Lambert’s shoulders, one hand sliding up to stroke through short dark hair. He could feel Lambert relax by degrees, beginning to skim his hand up and down Jaskier’s back, so gentle the bard could barely feel it.

The closeness was soothing. Jaskier had always loved to cuddle, particularly after sex, and he was content and drowsy enough that he shut his eyes with a soft  _ mm,  _ nestling in against Lambert’s chest and delighting in the warmth of Lambert’s arms around him.

Eventually, reluctantly, they separated with a final soft kiss, moving from the bed to clean up. Lambert left his shirt where it had fallen, but pulled back on his breeches, leaving them unlaced and slouching around his hips. Even after what they’d just done, Jaskier’s mouth went dry at the sight of him.

Lambert slipped an arm around Jaskier’s shoulder, pulling him in to drop a kiss at the corner of his mouth. He spoke softly, seeming not to want to break the soft quiet in the room.

“I have to head out early tomorrow, I have a contract three towns to the east.”

Jaskier heard what he didn’t say:  _ I should have left town earlier but I stayed for you.  _ A little thrill of happiness ran down his spine but that was quickly quashed by the realisation that this was Lambert awkwardly saying goodbye. He didn’t want to spoil the evening however, so he just nodded.

“I’m heading north, to meet Geralt. I’ll be leaving early too, I suppose, probably should get some sleep.” 

He kissed Lambert once more, and moved to the door. He had undeniably hoped that Lambert might want him to stay, but if the witcher was still unsure about that level of vulnerability then he wasn’t going to push. He squashed down the little part of himself that hurt at being pushed away, glad at least that Lambert seemed easier about giving and receiving affection. He let Lambert open the door for him and with a final smile, slipped out into the night.

***

It was just past dawn when Jaskier passed through the city’s northern gate, lute and pack in hand as he nibbled on an apple. He was so lost on thought about how much he had to say to Geralt that he didn’t notice the footsteps behind him until a hand landed on his shoulder.

He spun, one hand dropping to the dagger at his belt, before realising it was Lambert, who was looking approvingly at his instinctive grab for his weapon. 

He was also not in the least out of breath from running to catch up with Jaskier while in full gear, which while not unexpected, was also unfair and unfairly attractive. He stood in front of Jaskier, looking awkward for a second before he blurted out:

“I just, uh, I wanted to say goodbye properly. In case we don’t see each other. Although. You should --” he stopped, looking frustrated at his own inability to form a complete sentence, “--you should tell Geralt to bring you to Kaer Morhen for the winter.”

Jaskier beamed, caught completely off guard. “Really? I certainly will, darling, I shall  _ insist  _ on it, in fact.”

“Oh. Good. Yeah, good. I’ll see you there then.” Lambert went to turn away but paused again, meeting Jaskier’s eyes. “And last night. Last night was. Well. Thank you, bard.”

_ Thank you?  _ Jaskier frowned to himself.  _ That’s not. . .  _ He shook it off, pulling a smile to his face before Lambert could notice his reaction and draw the wrong conclusion. No, he’d made another misstep here somewhere but he certainly didn’t regret any of it. It might, however, be time to bring in the big guns here. He and Geralt would certainly have much to discuss.

He leaned in and pressed a goodbye kiss to Lambert’s cheek before he shouldered his pack.

“Safe travels, darling. May we meet again soon.”

With that, he turned and started down the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was an absolute nightmare - I managed to lose the first version and had to re-write the whole thing. Thank you all so much for your kudos and comments - I've been in a bit of a weird headspace so haven't responded but honestly they were the only reason I managed to get this rewritten and posted. THANK YOU.
> 
> Next time: Geralt and Jaskier, and Kaer Morhen.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier meets back up with Geralt and a little light is shed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just fyi triss and yen are mentioned in blink-and-you'll-miss-it passing as past partners of Geralt (or I guess you could read it as present, given the open relationship he has with Jaskier) bc I only have the Netflix show and most of a playthrough of Witcher 3 to draw on, so please feel free to insert other names there as you prefer. I didn't even romance anyone in the game bc as much as I love Yen my instinct is honestly just like, Geralt stop BOTHERING these women there are so many more important things happening!!
> 
> Just a heads-up - it's not enough to tag for I don't think but if it bothers you it's about 6 paragraphs in so you can skip!

Jaskier was curled up beside Geralt, tucked under his arm with his legs slung over the witcher’s lap and his head resting comfortably on Geralt’s solid shoulder, agreeably warm and pleasant once Geralt had removed his armour. He was holding Geralt’s free hand, idly playing with his fingers. Geralt let him, content to just sit peacefully in Jaskier’s company after their time apart.

They had reunited in a small town outside Gors Velen, too small for an inn. Instead of camping though, they’d taken the offer of a hayloft - not exactly the height of luxury but warm and safe and quiet - just the two of them curled together by the lanternlight.

Geralt was quiet, he had been since Jaskier had recounted his time spent with Lambert - with a not-insignificant diversion in how _well_ his griffin ballad had been received, I _told you so Geralt,_ yes accuracy is important but accuracy does not win competitions and fill purses does it now, _no it does not._

He had been very careful about laying out his impression of Lambert - he didn’t want to cause trouble between Geralt and Lambert, or make it seem like Lambert had been callous or deliberately selfish, but for a man who was so gregarious and seemingly delighted in Jaskier’s company, he had been so detached during their first time together, and then so cautious even when Jaskier had consciously tried to draw him out.

Geralt squeezed him gently when he was done but said nothing. Jaskier stayed leaning easily against him, content to let Geralt work out whatever he was going to say. Geralt had certainly become better at expressing himself in their years together but Jaskier had learned too - his instinct was to fill the silence, throw words at a problem until he saw the shape of the solution. But he’d learned the value of quiet, sometimes, and he had learned how to let Geralt sit with a thought when he needed to, only poking when poking was necessary. He stayed quiet, allowing himself to drift a bit, savouring the warmth of Geralt’s arm across his shoulder, the surprising elegance of his fingers.

Eventually Geralt shifted slightly, drawing in a breath. Jaskier stilled his hand, letting Geralt have all the calm he needed to marshal his thoughts. Geralt’s voice rumbled in his chest as he began to speak, soothing Jaskier even as he focused intently on Geralt’s words.

  
  
“Witchers don’t settle down, as a rule. We don’t have lovers, not really.” He hesitated, unsure or uncomfortable with how to explain himself. “I’ve always been a bit of an . . . outlier in these matters, with Yen and Triss, with _you._ ” 

Jaskier hummed, turning Geralt’s words over in his mind. He was beginning to see the shape of it - Geralt certainly didn’t relish playing politics but he had learned how to, even if it was by necessity. He had learned how to fit his manner to an occasion and how to read people beyond low-level monster-contract negotiations - not something that usually came naturally to people and it certainly wasn’t something most witchers would have a need to learn. Nor was seduction, Geralt's propensity for relationships with sorceresses were unusual for any man, let alone a witcher, but it wasn't as though most humans were flocking to bed men who were painted as fairytale monsters. Would Geralt have had the opportunity to learn how to build a relationship with a lover if he hadn't come in contact with some of the most powerful women and men on the Continent? 

Geralt cleared his throat before continuing.

“So, no lovers, maybe a friendly hand with other trainees and, later, brothels when they’ll take our coin. Most of us have friends, of course, but the Path forces us to be transient - there isn’t _space_ for something long term, even if humans were inclined to consider it. And even as trainees, as children, deep friendship or any sort of real closeness wasn’t encouraged. Before the Trials it was because the trainers knew most of us wouldn’t make it - they were trying to protect us in their own way.” Jaskier fought the urge to throw his arms around Geralt - and, irrationally, Lambert - but he could hear the strain in Geralt’s voice. Instead he squeezed Geralt’s hand once, a silent _I’m here_ and let him continue.

  
  


“After the Trials . . . Afterwards we all trained together but mostly didn’t get close, it wasn’t because of the mutations but -” He stopped, frustration at the limitations of his words clear. 

“The Trials didn’t take the capacity for relationships from us, no matter what the masters or mages said, but witchers walk the Path alone. Independence was rewarded by the trainers. Eskel and I grew close anyway, eventually, but we were more of an aberration. Even after, if you saw another witcher on the Path, they were competition for contracts, not compatriots. You’d help maybe, if someone really needed it, but that was it. The - learning how to be truly close to someone, how to give and take pleasure with a lover rather than meeting a need with a working girl, that came later for me and it never came for many of us. Me and Eskel and Lambert, we’re closer than is usual for witchers, but it took the fall of Kaer Morhen, seeing how easy it is to lose everything to really bring us to that point.”

He stopped again, sighed.

“Is this even helping? I can give you the history, but you _will_ need to speak to Lambert on this if you do intend to continue pursuing him.”

Jaskier leaned up just enough to press a soft kiss under Geralt’s jaw, feeling the tension there soften slightly. “I know, sweetheart. I’d just like to know what I’m walking into this winter. Avoid kicking any metaphorical wasp nests if I can.”

Geralt snickered at that, mood lightening. “Oh yes, you’re known for avoiding wasp nests, aren’t you?” He tightened his grip on Jaskier’s hand, preventing the bard from smacking him as he began to outright laugh. “Or is it just the metaphorical ones you stay away from?”

“That was _once!_ One time! Let go of my hand, you - you bastard!” Jaskier, thwarted by Geralt’s grip, eventually gave up squirming and just went limp, stifling his own laughter. 

Eventually they both calmed, the tension broken somewhat and Geralt resumed, resettling Jaskier against his side.

“From the first, Lambert was always prickly. He never made friends easily. I don’t think that’s changed much. But we’ve known each other for years and I do know how he thinks, at least a little.” He considered his next words, looking carefully down at Jaskier. 

“I know you like to give people things, you want to make him feel good, to give him pleasure. That’s not something Lambert’s used to and not just because he’s a witcher. If you want him to understand, you have to show him that you trust him. He’ll listen, if you’re careful. I think you’re more alike than you realise - he likes to give to the people he’s close to as well. With me and Eskel, he’ll make sure there’s supplies in the pantry or leave a bottle of vodka in my room or let Eskel sit closest to the fire. He does the same with Vesemir a little, even. You should talk to him about it. Properly talk this time. If you do come to Kaer Morhen this winter, you can let him, if you want.” He shrugged, keeping preternaturally still even as his voice lowered. “I think I’d like to see you let him.”

“Oh, _can_ I,” Jaskier breathed, picking up on the sudden shift in mood. “I might do just that. But maybe, Geralt, if he’s so unused to giving _that_ , you could help him. **”**

Geralt shifted under Jaskier, keeping his face very still. “Help him?”

“Mmm, yes. Show him exactly what he can give, and exactly what I can take.”

Geralt swallowed, suddenly unable to speak. That was all right though, Jaskier seemed to be speaking enough for the both of them at the moment.

“You could lay me out for him, Geralt, both of us in your bed. Let him watch you strip me down and _hold_ me down. Tell him just what to do to make me squeal, hm?” 

Leaning in, Jaskier licked a hot stripe up Geralt’s neck, finishing with his mouth just beside Geralt’s ear. Geralt still sat frozen, every sense focussed entirely on Jaskier in his lap, hot breath almost enough to make him shiver. “If Lambert truly wants to give, you can show him exactly how good I am at taking it.”

Whatever spell Jaskier’s words had woven suddenly snapped and Geralt moved, flipping them over to sprawl on the bedroll as Jaskier yelled with laughter, his head tilted back enough for Geralt to bury his face in his neck, biting kisses making him squirm.

Laughter eventually tapered off into moans as Geralt moved to kiss Jaskier’s mouth, one hand behind the bard’s head and the other supporting his own weight, his body pressing down on Jaskier.

It took a minute for Jaskier to sort out his limbs, the heat of Geralt’s body over his and the sensation of teeth and tongue as he nipped at Jaskier’s lips before deepening the kiss were taking up the entirety of his attention. Eventually though, he focussed enough to slide one hand between their bodies, tugging at Geralt’s laces until he could slip his hand in and wrap it around his cock, delighting to find him already hard. Geralt growled, tightening his hand in Jaskier’s hair as he thrust into the tight circle of Jaskier’s hand. He let Jaskier play for a minute, taking his fill of kisses from his lush mouth before he pulled back, moving to sit astride Jaskier’s hips. He ground down just enough to make the bard moan, watching as Jaskier’s hand kept moving on his cock even as he tried to get some relief for his own trapped arousal.

One hand on Jaskier’s shoulder held the bard in place, giving him another point to push against as Geralt slipped his other hand up under Jaskier’s shirt, pushing the loose fabric up and scratching over Jaskier’s belly just how the bard liked, feeling muscles contract under his hand. He pinched Jaskier’s nipple, loving how Jaskier tried to push into and pull away from the sensation simultaneously, before pulling back to scratch his nails gently over his ribs, digging in just once at Jaskier’s waist and feeling him gasp at the pleasure-pain of it.

He could feel Jaskier trying to rock up against him and tightened his thighs around him, holding the bard in place just to hear his frustrated growl. He rocked down again, just once, partly to feel Jaskier’s arousal but mostly just teasing. Jaskier groaned again, but didn’t stop his hand on Geralt’s cock. He looked up at Geralt, eyes dark and cheeks red, and sobbed out, “Please.” 

Geralt smiled down at him, pressing down harder to feel Jaskier fruitlessly try to squirm up against him, desperate for friction. He leaned forward just enough to gently stroke over his jaw, slipping two fingers into the bard’s lax mouth as he murmured, “Shhh.”

Jaskier sucked hungrily at Geralt’s fingers, eyes rolling back as Geralt stroked over his tongue, but managed to keep his hand moving on the witcher’s cock. He could feel Geralt’s hips beginning to jerk, minute movements that spoke of how close he was. It only took a few more fumbling tugs before Geralt swore, grip on Jaskier’s shoulder tightening to just past the point of pain before he was coming hard, shooting onto Jaskier’s bared belly as he panted, mouth open. 

He took just a few seconds to recover, before pulling his fingers from Jaskier’s mouth and sliding down his body, yanking his breeches open and burying his face between Jaskier’s legs as though he were starving for it. Jaskier shouted as Geralt took his cock straight into his throat and sucked hard, suddenly desperate to taste Jaskier after their time apart. He knew Jaskier’s body like his own and took merciless advantage of that, using every trick he had learned over their years together to take the bard apart. He pressed a knuckle behind Jaskier’s balls at the same time as he played his thumb over Jaskier’s frenulum, holding his cock still so he could push the tip of his tongue into Jaskier’s slit. He kept his eyes closed to better hear Jaskier’s whimpers at the sudden onslaught of stimulation, pre-come dripping onto Geralt’s eager tongue.

Geralt closed his mouth back over the head of Jaskier’s cock and sucked, keeping his mouth soft and lush with just a threat of teeth and Jaskier tipped over the edge. He _wailed_ as he came, Geralt swallowing around him and stroking his thighs before pulling back as the scent of his arousal began to sour with overstimulation. He moved back up, gathering Jaskier into his arms and kissing him deeply, sharing his taste with him and stroking slow circles across his back, gentling him until his breathing calmed. Eventually their kisses slowed and stopped as Jaskier dropped into sleep, breath even and scent filled with contentment.

Geralt reached down and tugged the bedroll cover up over them, smoothing it over Jaskier’s shoulder and tucking his nose into the bard’s neck, holding him close as he closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is both late and short! Thesis is KICKING my arse and this chapter seemed to want to be about 6000 words long so I stopped it here. Next and last chapter is going to be gargantuan but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> and thank you all so so much for your kudos and comments and bookmarks - I can't tell you how happy they make me and how much they motivated me to keep going even as I am being buried in datasets. 
> 
> Unbeta'd so please let me know if you spot any typos/glaring errors and i will fix!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse for how long this took - in the words of James Acaster: starting making it, had a breakdown, bon appetit. I do plan a follow up work bringing Eskel into the dynamic at some stage but I don't know when I'll have the time to get it done! Sometime this side of Christmas is all I can say lol

A sudden gust of frigid winds tangles Jaskier’s cloak around his legs and he stumbles over his own frozen feet as he trudges from the outer courtyard into Kaer Morhen proper. Cold and exhaustion were both catching up with him now that he was mere steps away from hot food and a hotter fire. His hands and feet were numb, his steps slow and reflexes dulled after hours of hard walking and dragging his pack up rugged mountain tracks. He  _ knew _ he was reacting too slowly to catch himself but still only had time to vaguely think  _ this is going to hurt _ as the cobblestones rushed up toward him. 

He’s too fatigued for more than a hazy sense of relief when instead of cold stone, strong hands catch him; steadying him and hauling him back upright; keeping hold of him when he swayed in place. He drags his head up just enough to meet wary yellow eyes and rallied enough to smile - he can’t quite find the energy to muster up actual words to thank his saviour. The strange witcher holds his gaze until it’s clear that Jaskier probably issn’t actually about to collapse again and, once satisfied, he shouts over Jaskier’s shoulder, towards the stables, impatience clear in his voice.

“Geralt! If you insist on inflicting  _ company _ on us for the winter, you might at least keep track of him. Bring him in and put him in the great hall, it’s the warmest place in the keep right now.” As annoyed as this new witcher sounded, Jaskier couldn’t find the energy to mind too much, his hands were careful where he gripped Jaskier’s arms and his ire seemed mostly aimed at Geralt, who came trotting up to them with an apologetic glance at Jaskier.

Jaskier is vaguely offended at being handed over to Geralt like an inconvenient parcel but once Geralt scoops him up and tucks him against his chest to carry him inside, he can’t bring himself to mind overmuch. He presses his cold nose against Geralt’s neck as he’s brought into the blessed warmth, too tired to take in more than a vague impression of stone walls and high ceilings as they move through what looks like an entrance hall, run down but not quite derelict, and cross into a slightly smaller, much warmer room. Geralt sets him gently down on a chair by a roaring fire and kneels down beside him, smoothing his hair back and tugging off his gloves. The strange witcher follows behind, moving around Geralt to toss another log on the fire and that’s the last Jaskier knows before sleep takes him.

***

It’s morning when Jaskier wakes, reluctantly pulled from sleep by watery dawn light filtering in from the hall’s high windows. The fire has mostly burned out and he shivers in the morning chill, pulling the blankets piled on him higher. He can feel that the soreness from three days of hard walking has well and truly set in - he may be used to day spent travelling on foot but he’s not used to struggling through quite so much snow, nor such steep slopes. Wincing, he inches upright and takes stock. He’s alone in the hall, but he can hear indistinct voices nearby. Just as soon as he realises this, Geralt emerges from a door in the far wall, a steaming bowl in each hand. He smiles when he sees Jaskier awake, hurrying to drop the bowls on the long table and approach Jaskier, dropping a soft kiss to the side of his mouth and murmuring a quiet  _ good morning  _ as he smooths the blanket over Jaskier’s shoulders.

Jaskier smiles back, helplessly charmed as always and more than a little relieved to find him clearly safe and rested after the hellish climb up the mountain. 

“Morning,” he replys quietly, letting himself lean his head against Geralt’s shoulder for a moment. The quiet moment is soon broken by the arrival of two other witchers, each with their own breakfast in hand.

Geralt straightens up and helps Jaskier to his feet, keeping a hand on the small of his back and guiding him to sit at the table, leaving the blanket draped over the chair.

“Jaskier,” he says with a hint of pride in his voice, “this is Vesemir and Eskel.”

Jaskier smiles at them both as he sits and takes up his spoon. “Pleased to meet you both. Thank you for letting me spend the winter here, sorry I couldn’t manage to introduce myself properly yesterday.” 

He looks to Eskel and smiles wider, ignoring the little flip his stomach gives at Eskel’s strong features and broad shoulders. “And thank you for the rescue yesterday. It’s not everyday I have a dashing stranger save me from my own idiocy. I promise I can usually climb stairs without incident.” His smile drops slightly when Eskel only nods in response, focused on his own breakfast. Vesemir clears his throat, breaks the awkward silence. 

“Happy to have you, lad. Geralt says you’ve met Lambert already?”

Jaskier nodded, horrified to find himself  _ blushing.  _ “Yes, um. Yes. We’ve met,” he managed, cursing himself and his sudden fit of modesty internally. His first chance to make a good impression with basically Geralt’s  _ father  _ and he’s stumbling over himself like a first year being scolded by a professor. 

Eskel snorted, and Jaskier couldn’t help but flinch a little at the unimpressed look on his face. “ _ Met  _ is certainly one way of putting it,” he sneered. Jaskier’s breath caught and Geralt snarled, shoulders tensing as he caught the sudden distress blooming through the bard’s scent. 

“Enough!” Vesemir cut in, stopping the brewing fight in its tracks. His voice softened as he turned to Jaskier. “You come with me lad, and I’ll give you the tour.” He looked between Geralt and Eskel and a note of warning crept into his tone. “You two, sort this out. I won’t have you sniping at each other all winter. Geralt, come find us in the baths when you’re done.” With that, he strode off through the doors to the entrance hall. Jaskier threw Geralt a desperate look only to have him nod encouragement and, hastily shoving a last large spoonful of porridge in his mouth, Jaskier obediently trotted out after Vesemir, limping a little as the stiffness in his legs made itself known.

He caught up to the old witcher just past the doors to the entrance hall, anxiety churning in his gut. He can admit to himself he’s a little hopeful about the baths Vesemir mentioned, but before he can let himself get caught up in the thought of a good soak, he blurts out an awkward apology. “I’m sorry, if my being here has caused trouble. I didn’t mean to make any of you uncomfortable in your own home. I can stay out of the way --” He cuts himself off as Vesemir stops, turns to look at him with one eyebrow raised. 

“Can you?” Vesemir asks dryly. “Where will you put yourself? Are you planning to spend the entire winter in a bedroom to avoid a little awkwardness? Perhaps pick a tower to lock yourself in?” 

Jaskier hesitates but eventually blows out a breath. “No,” he admits. “I’d go mad if I tried. And poor Geralt certainly wouldn’t have a relaxing winter trying to keep me amused.” 

Vesemir’s stony expression cracked at that. “ _ Poor Geralt  _ knew what he was doing when he brought you here,” he said with a small smile. “Eskel’s not uncomfortable, he’s worried about his brothers.” Jaskier isn’t sure whether this is actually reassuring; what exactly does Eskel think he might  _ do _ to Geralt? 

“He knows better than to be rude to a guest though,” Vesemir adds thoughtfully. “If he’s forgotten something as basic as that, he might need to spend a few days re-training on basic sword and sign drills as well. Difficult to make yourself unpleasant when you don’t have the energy to snarl at people.” He sounds vaguely cheered by the thought and resumes walking, apparently done with the discussion for now. He points out the weapons storage and alchemy labs (with a firm aside that Jaskier is to stay out of there, unless he  _ wants  _ to spend the winter recovering from the many interesting effects the contents may have). 

They pass the library and Vesemir doesn’t miss how Jaskier’s face lights up, but he steers him past and leads him up to an upper floor that seems to consist entirely of bedrooms, some mostly empty and some having been pressed into use as furniture storerooms. “If you need anything from one of those, get one of the pups to carry it for you,” Vesemir tells him. “I’ve aired the spare blankets and left them in the chest in Geralt’s room, we haven’t had a human here in years so if you do need more tell Geralt. Firewood is out in the stables, but the rooms are stocked as well.” Jaskier nodded, trying to remember whether or not he’d passed the stables on their way in last night. 

“Thank you,” he said, smiling at Vesemir. “I’m sure I’ll be more than content here for the winter.” Vesemir laughed, clapping one hand on his shoulder and guiding him towards a dark wooden door at the end of the corridor. “Hold your praise until afterwards, bard,” he said, steering Jaskier through the door and down a narrow little staircase. The wall sconces were unlit but arrowslits in the wall provided just enough light to safely descend for what felt like two or three floors. 

On emerging, Jaskier actually stopped dead and gaped. They stood in a comfortably large underground space, obviously carved out of the mountain centuries hence. A natural spring emerged high on one wall, feeding into two huge copper tanks which together were large enough to heat enough water to fill all three of the bathing pools, two large enough to fit a dozen men and one smaller but still big enough for four or five people to share a luxurious soak. Carved stone seats ran around the edge of each bath and a series of metal pipes for drainage led to a discreet outlet on the far wall. 

Jaskier honestly thought he might never leave, the opportunity to have a bath without having to heat multiple buckets of water and tip it out by hand was more luxury than could be found in most manor houses and the prospect of soaking out his lingering chills and soreness was  _ very  _ welcome. Vesemir laughed a little at the look on his face, though not unkindly. He clapped Jaskier on the shoulder and said cheerfully “I’ll show you how it works and send Geralt down to you. Take the rest of the day, there’s plenty of work to be done before the snows hit but most of it will keep until the morning.” He showed a grateful Jaskier how the various sluices and taps worked and lit the fire under the copper heating tank with a quick blast of Igni, which had the side benefit of heating the tank itself faster than fire alone. After pointing out the chest with a small collection of oils, soap and towels, Vesemir left him to it,

Jaskier was still wavering between the lavender and bergamot scents when Geralt slipped through the door. He reached over Jaskier’s shoulder and plucked a vial that Jaskier had discarded for being scentless from the heap, dropping a kiss to Jaskier’s temple as he did so. “This one,” he said, carefully opening it. “Sandalwood.” 

He shot a teasing look at Jaskier. “Lambert prefers it, too.”

Jaskier took it from him, sniffing it carefully. “I’ll have to take your word for it, darling, I can’t smell anything.” He scattered a few drops in the smaller pool, opening the sluice to let the heated water pour in as he did so.

He re-corked the bottle before turning to Geralt, nuzzling in against him. “Everything alright?” he murmured. Geralt nodded, sliding one hand under Jaskier’s doublet as he began to work at his laces with the other. “Eskel’s just worried, about me and about Lambert. He knew how I feel about you and he was surprised when I mentioned you’d spent time with Lambert as well. I talked to him, he knows you’re not toying with either of us, he understands how it is between us now.”

Jaskier  _ hmm _ -d, kicking out of his boots and breeches. “Understanding isn’t the same as approving, Geralt. I don’t need to be welcomed with a parade, but it’ll be a long winter if I have to constantly prove I’m not breaking your heart.”

Geralt climbs down into the pool, tugging Jaskier in to sit between his knees and leaning back so the hot water lapped at their chests, steam curling around their faces. He wraps his arms around Jaskier’s waist and presses his forehead to the back of his neck, letting out a slow breath as he considers what he wants to say. “Eskel can be a bit overprotective,” he starts. 

Jaskier snorts, one hand on Geralt’s forearm. “I’m starting to think all Witchers have secret mother-hen streaks. Not to mention that you’re all secret sybarites, spending the winters lounging around in bathing pools.” Geralt huffs a soft laugh, not disagreeing. 

“He doesn’t understand how you being with Lambert isn’t unfaithful to me. He doesn’t like seeing Lambert treated as something casual, either, not when you have something serious with me. And he’s worried that if we start fighting after the snows come down, it’ll be a hellish winter.” 

Jaskier nods, thoughtfully. “So he’s worried about you  _ and  _ Lambert. I can see why, when you put it like that,” he says. “Is there anything I can do?” 

“No. We talked after you and Vesemir left, and he trusts that I mean it when I say our relationship works for us, and that neither of us would ever treat Lambert carelessly but I don’t think he’ll be reassured until he really sees everything is okay.” He squeezed Jaskier softly, offering silent comfort.

Jaskier turns in his lap, facing him to lean in for a gentle kiss. “Alright. Then I should talk to Lambert when he arrives, make sure we’re all on the same page. I think it might be best for all three of us to be together, if you’d like that?” 

Geralt hums agreement even as he pulls back, puzzled. “Lambert’s already here. He’s further up the valley hunting for a last bit of fresh venison but he’ll be back tonight at the latest.” 

Jasker raises an eyebrow. “You might have mentioned that!” 

Geralt has the decency to look a little shamefaced. “I forgot you can’t smell, his scent is all over the keep.” 

Jaskier tsks, mock-exasperated, before grinning and shoving his face into Geralt’s neck, nipping gently in playful reprimand. “Well then, why don’t you make up for springing that on me by getting your scent all over  _ me _ ?”

Geralt laughs, sliding one strong arm around Jaskier’s hips, holding him in place as he turns his head to catch Jaskier’s mouth in a kiss. Jaskier sighs happily, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s neck and spreading his knees wider, dragging his hardening cock over Geralt’s. Geralt lets him, settling Jaskier firmly in his lap, their cocks pressed together but then tightens his grip again, forcing Jaskier’s hips to still. He easily holds Jaskier where he wants him, giving him space to just barely rock his hips, letting the bard work himself up as he bites at Jaskier’s mouth, free hand stroking over his chest and teasing at his nipples. Jaskier winds his hands in Geralt’s hair and pulls, moaning as Geralt stops teasing and twists a nipple in retaliation. 

He keeps his grip in Geralt’s hair, guiding the witcher’s mouth to his throat, moans turning to whimpers as Geralt sucks soft, open-mouthed kisses into the soft skin of his throat. When Geralt wraps a hand around his cock and begins to stroke, he starts outright sobbing, hips jerking against Geralt’s implacable hold.

  
  


“Geralt,  _ please _ ,” he manages to gasp, his head dropping back when Geralt sinks his teeth into the curve of his shoulder and moves his hand faster, still not quite fast enough rubbing his calloused thumb under the head in a rhythm guaranteed to make Jaskier spill embarrassingly quickly. Geralt relents when Jaskier begins to beg properly, a stream of soft  _ pleases  _ and  _ Geralts _ and soft sobs falling from his lips. Geralt presses his nose to Jaskier’s temple, loosens his grip on his hips and encourages him to move into the motion of Geralt’s hand on his cock. 

“Take what you need, sweetheart,” he rumbles into Jaskier’s ear. It doesn’t take long for Jaskier to spill, he comes hard and Geralt strokes him through it, moving to kiss the soft, breathy gasps from his slack mouth and taking his weight as he sags into Geralt’s supporting arm at his back, chest heaving

It doesn’t take Jaskier long to recover, and he breaks their kiss, pulling back just enough to smile dazedly at Geralt. Geralt smiles back, contentment bubbling up in his chest even as he fights to ignore his own arousal. Jaskier slides back off Geralt’s lap before leaning in to brush another kiss to his mouth as he coaxes Geralt up to sit on the smooth rock floor.

Jaskier shuffles in to kneel between Geralt’s legs, water lapping at his chest. He drops a kiss on the sensitive skin of Geralt’s inner thigh, tongue tracing the line of a long-healed scar. 

Geralt groans as Jaskier presses a lush kiss to the head of his cock, the feeling of strong fingers scratching gently through the hair running down from his navel making him shiver even in the heat from the bath. He cups a gentle hand around the back of the bard’s neck and just barely manages to stop himself from thrusting as Jaskier drops any pretense of teasing and takes Geralt straight to the root. 

Geralt moans again, low and long, as Jaskier sucks hard, using every trick he knows Geralt loves. Jaskier normally likes to take his time doing this, but it’s their first time together since before the trek up the mountain and he’s hungry for it. He pulls back to smile up at Geralt, eyes gleaming as he licks up the pre-come dripping from the head. He makes a show of it, opening his mouth so that Geralt can watch as he rests his cockhead on his tongue, letting his enjoyment shine through as his eyes flutter shut. He squirms with delight when Geralt slips his thumb past his lips along with his cock, briefly holding his jaw open while Geralt pushes deeper, stopping just before he’d start to gag and watching as Jaskier drools around his cock. 

Eventually he pulls his hand back, insteading tangling his fingers in Jaskier’s hair but not pulling, just letting Jaskier feel the pressure as he begins to suck in earnest, as he presses his hand gently between Geralt’s legs, stroking at his hole as he hums around his mouthful, eyes falling closed in delighted bliss as Geralt growls Jaskier’s name and comes, hand briefly tightening in Jaskier’s hair before falling lax to his shoulder. Jaskier swallows then pulls off, eyes bright, and looks Geralt right in the eyes as he licks his lips. He laughs as Geralt lunges for him, hauling him up out of the water to kiss him, arms tight around his waist and humming with bone-deep joy.

***

Jaskier is still loose-limbed and red-faced and beaming when he and Geralt emerge from the baths just before noon. Geralt leads him directly to the great hall, both of them ravenous. Jaskier stops short just inside the door, gaze falling immediately to the new arrival at the table. 

“Lambert!” Lambert doesn’t look surprised - he probably heard them coming long before they crossed the threshold, but he does look pleased, if a little tired. Delighted, Jaskier makes straight for Lambert as he rises to greet them both, and flings himself at the witcher, throwing his arms around his waist and squeezing a surprised  _ unf  _ out of him. Lambert is initially hesitant in his response, but when Geralt does nothing but cheerfully thump him on the shoulder as he moves past the pair of them to grab an apple, he relaxes, closing his eyes and hugging Jaskier back. Jaskier melts into Lambert’s arms, letting the witcher take some of his weight and press his nose to the crook of Jaskier’s neck, filling his lungs with deep inhales and even daring the tiniest kiss to the soft skin of Jaskier’s throat. Jaskier shivered, stifling a gasp at the heat of Lambert’s mouth.

Over Lambert’s shoulder, Jaskier can see Eskel look between Lambert and Geralt, his face carefully blank. He suppresses a sigh - either Eskel will accept their relationship or he won’t, but at least he’s not actively voicing disapproval. Despite his honest desire not to make the Kaer Morhen witchers unhappy this winter, Jaskier is not willing to allow either Geralt or Lambert to be shamed for this.

With a final squeeze, he steps back from Lambert, dropping down into the nearest chair. Geralt takes the chance to give Lambert a proper greeting, slipping a hand to the back of the younger wolf’s neck and pressing their foreheads together. 

Eskel did frown a little when Lambert sits next to Jaskier, leaving Geralt to sit beside him, but Geralt pressed their shoulders together briefly and he subsided.

“Where’s Vesemir?” asks Jaskier, craning his neck to see if he can see any sign of the old wolf.

To his surprise, it’s Eskel who answers, glancing quickly at Jaskier as he takes bread and wedge of cheese from the platter piled high on the table. “In the kitchen, he’s butchering the last of the meat.”

Jaskier wavers a bit, manners eventually winning out over hunger. “Shouldn’t we help him?” 

At his elbow, Lambert snorts. “Best leave him to it. Eskel and I helped out with the skinning and cleaning, the old bastard likes to do the rest himself. Wouldn’t trust us to live up to his table’s standards.” He pauses, considering. “Not that I give a shit, I did all the work of tracking both down  _ and  _ hauling them back. You ask me, all I should have to do is eat it. These lazy bastards can do the cooking.” He smirks at Geralt and Eskel, effortlessly catching the crust Geralt hurls at him and promptly eats it, even Eskel cracking a smile at how pleased with himself he looks.

They tear into the bread and cheese, Lamber surreptitiously nudging his share of the cherry preserves towards Jaskier. They settle in, Geralt and Lambert catching each other up on the latest news, sharing idle gossip about petty squabbles between nobles and retirement of favoured blacksmiths, newly discovered spots where potion ingredients could be harvested and, improbably, reminiscing about a small village in Vizima where the best strawberry preserves could be purchased. By some silent agreement, they avoid talking of contracts completed during the past year - Jaskier knew from Geralt’s stories of past winters that this was saved for the first night they were all home safe, a roaring fire and a night spent sharing drinks and telling tales before the work of winter began.

After lunch Lambert slips off to the baths and Geralt to the stables to walk Roach. He offers to bring Jaskier along for some fresh air but Eskel clears his throat and quietly offers to show Jaskier the kitchen - along with the deer, Lambert brought back a handful of precious blackberries, the last of the season, and a saddlebag’s worth of comfrey that needed to be diced and dried. Jaskier is only too happy to take this small olive branch and follows Eskel down to the kitchen. He’ll happily admit that he’s not much of a baker but he at least knows how to dry and powder herbs.

Eskel quietly shows him where the knives are kept and points him towards a clear workbench. They work in not-quite-awkward silence for a while, Eskel rolling out dough and Jaskier biting his tongue to keep quiet - silence doesn’t come naturally to him but he remembers how discomfited Geralt had been by his chatter when they first met.

Surprisingly, it’s Eskel that breaks the silence, shoving the blackberry tart in the great oven before he moves next to Jaskier to help slice the comfrey. 

“Make sure you know what you’re doing, bard.” Eskel’s voice was quiet, none of the threat Jaskier might have expected and that alone stops him before he bristles. Instead he looks carefully at Eskel, but can’t glean anything else from that handsome, scarred face. Broad shoulders are tense and Eskel is standing close, but Jaskier isn’t so easily intimidated by a tall frame after years with Geralt.

“What do you mean?” He knows Geralt has talked about him with his brothers, talked enough that Lambert knew they were open to other partners so surely Eskel did as well.

Eskel sighs, suddenly looking a lot more weary and a lot less intimidating than before. He rubs at his scar, clearly searching for the right words.

“Lambert can be fragile,” he says, slowly. Jaskier stops chopping, looks up at him properly. This isn’t what he was expecting. Seeing the bard is paying attention, Eskel continues. “Geralt and I trained together, were boys together. Lambert was the last witcher trained here, the rest of his cohort died either during the Trials or when the keep was sacked, you understand? He never had his brothers on the Path with him. Even me and Geralt . . . “ He pauses, clearly struggling for words. Jaskier fights down the urge to interject, Eskel was trying to put words to something that had always been unspoken, known but not acknowledged and Jaskier gives him space to do so.

“Geralt and I were grown by the time Lambert had his Trials. Geralt in particular was always more of an idea than a brother - the White Wolf, mostly held up as an example by the trainers. I don’t know if he and Lambert ever even met properly, before the pogroms. I remember him from the one season I spent back here before everything, just another skinny little kid in a class of skinny little kids who were terrified of grown witchers even as they wanted to be us.” He sighs, the memory clearly not exactly a joyful one, full of lost boys and a home that now sits almost empty. “All I’m saying, bard, is he went from being just one trainee among many, competing for favour, knowing most of them wouldn’t make it through the Trials, to being more alone than any of us, left with just two brothers he barely knew, one of who was more myth than man. Didn’t help that me and Geralt were always close - Lambert was on the outside, or thought he was, anyway.” 

“Same thing, really,” Jaskier murmurs. Eskel looks sharply at him, but nods.

“It’s been years, we’ve all closed that distance - we  _ had  _ to, we were all we had for a long, long time, but it’s not the kind of wound that heals clean. We need him as much as he needs us but he loses sight of it sometimes.” He cuts himself off and huffs, frustration at the inadequacy of the explanation clear on his face. “I’m saying, bard, for all his bravado, he never really stopped feeling like he had to convince us to let him in, that he was worth loving. That he wasn’t enough on his own.” He casts a significant look at Jaskier. “And I’m not saying that you have to love him just because you’re fucking him, but make sure you don’t give him reason to feel like he’s just a bit of fun for when Geralt’s not around.” 

With that, Eskel goes back to separating comfrey leaves from stems . He doesn’t seem to need a response and Jaskier doesn’t offer one, chopping leaves in thoughtful silence.

****

That night they haul chairs around the fire in the small hall, armchairs and broken couches and rickety tables just big enough to lay out a spread of cards and pour from demijohns of vodka and mead. It’s a quiet, peaceful evening and after a few glasses of the homebrewed vodka Jaskier simply leaned against Geralt, for once content to sit in the quiet, half watching Geralt’s cards as he plays Gwent with Eskel, and half trying to think of a decent rhyme for garkain. 

Lambert is sprawled on a low armchair next to their couch, offering commentary as Geralt and Eskel lay down their cards, shamelessly switching sides depending on whose strategy he prefers at any given moment. When he grows bored with this, he instead regales Jaskier with the first of his promised tales of monsters fought and killed. Boasting a little, he uses his hands to sketch a scene in the air. “A mated pair of royal wyverns,” he says, pride clear in his voice. “It was planned perfectly, I didn’t even need to draw a sword in the end - set charges in a cave nearby, baited them in and set it off. Done.”

Geralt cuts eyes at him for a split second before zeroing back in on the cards - unexpectedly, Eskel cheats shamelessly at Gwent and is also uncommonly skilled at sleight-of-hand. Half of Geralt’s strategy entails watching the spread like a hawk for switched cards. Jaskier is a little jealous, to be honest, he’s never once beaten Geralt at cards and he privately thinks that this might even the odds. He resolves to beg or barter Eskel into teaching him some tricks before the winter is out.

“Missed out on harvesting ingredients if you buried them under a rockslide,” Geralt points out. 

Lambert shoots back, undeterred. “Did alright without. Made enough selling the eggs to repair all my tack and restock my potions.  _ And _ the fee from the contract.”

“Hang on,” Eskel objects. “How did you claim the fee without the heads?”

“I’m not that dumb,” Lambert snaps. “All it took was a couple of shots of  _ aard _ to move the top layer of rubble and I just picked up the heads.” He stops, considering. “Most of the heads, anyway,” he amenda. 

The other two laughed but it’s clear they’re impressed at such a smooth hunt - Jaskier has tagged along with Geralt enough times that he knows how rare it is for everything to fall into place like that. He smiles at Lambert. 

“You must be good with bombs, then,” he offers. “It must take quite a bit of precision to set a charge strong enough to kill two wyverns without burying them completely.” 

“He is good,” Geralt rumbles and Eskel hums in agreement. “Best I’ve ever seen.” 

Lambert fairly lights up under the praise. He tries to deflect by turning back to the cards, but the very tips of his ears stay pink for just a moment. Jaskier stifles a smile, already thinking of rhyming schemes for the song he’ll write about this, praising the skill and cleverness of the youngest wolf of Kaer Morhen. 

***

Jaskier had thought he was pacing himself but as the night wears on, he finds himself tipping further and further into Geralt, who absently lifts his arm to curl around Jaskier’s shoulders and hug him close. He kicks his feet up onto the end of the sofa they’re sitting on, closer to the fire. A draft hits him and he shivers a little.

Without speaking, Lambert rises and stokes the fire, throwing another couple of logs and a handful of the sweet smelling cedar shavings on to the flames before returning to lift Jaskier’s feet and put them back down in his own lap. He doesn’t  _ do  _ anything else, one terribly warm hand curled over Jaskier’s ankle and the other cradling a glass of awful homebrewed vodka but Jaskier can focus on nothing else but the calloused thumb rubbing gentle circles over his ankle. Eventually, he drifts off in the renewed heat from the fire and a pleasant haze of alcohol. He barely even wakes as Geralt turns and slides an arm under his knee, lifting him with ease as he carries him away to bed, soft laughter passing over his head as Geralt bids his brothers goodnight.

***

The next morning, Jaskier is more than a little annoyed to find that Geralt’s habit of rising with the sun hasn’t changed with the season, never mind the fact that the dawn is coming later and later these months. He rolls over into the warmth Geralt left behind when he left the bed, grumbling a bit as the blanket slips and exposes one of his shoulders, the cold air raising goosebumps almost immediately. Geralt laughs at him as he tugs on his boots then leans over to kiss him, before swinging a leg over his hips and pressing his cold nose into Jaskier’s neck. Jaskier shrieks, trying to fight Geralt off but the blanket betrays him  _ again _ , pinning his arms as Geralt kneels astride him, laughing until Jakier can’t help it and laughs as well, relaxing into the warm weight across his thighs. Eventually Geralt takes mercy, climbing back off Jaskier and using  _ igni  _ to warm the jug of washing water for him. Jaskier struggles out from beneath the bedcovers and dresses with alacrity; outside of the baths, Kaer Morhen is  _ not  _ warm. 

Gearlt steadies the mirror for him as he shaves, humming quietly to himself. “I’ll be in the courtyard this morning, training,” he says as he watches Jaskier finish the last little tricky spot under the nose. “Vesemir could use a hand salting the meat from last night and pickling the last of the vegetables, but otherwise you could spend the day in the library. I’ll be by after lunch.” 

Jaskier beams, dropping a damp kiss to Geralt’s cheek as he wipes and stores his razor. “I’d be delighted to help, darling, as if I’d turn down a chance to press Vesemir for stories.”

***

Jaskier found himself alone in the kitchen most of the morning, however, Vesemir had set him up to pickle the last of the onions and cabbage from the small garden and left him to it, promising stories at a later date as he pled the need to go and help the other three sweat the hangovers out in the training grounds. 

Jaskier hums to himself as he boils and chops and jars, tightening the last lid with satisfaction a few hours later. He grabs an apple as a snack, the angle of the sun shining in suggesting it was just before noon. There’s nothing else pressing that needed doing, so he decides instead to see if he could find his way to the library. Vesemir had already said he was welcome to read or borrow whatever caught his interest, as long as he was careful with the more fragile volumes.

He strides confidently through the great hall and on into the entrance hall, before stopping and looking around with slightly less confidence. Where was the library again? He was just about to pick a random direction and start opening doors when he heard his name being called as Lambert passes in through the main doors, looking delightfully rumpled after the morning training. 

He jogs up to Jaskier and hesitates, seeming to suddenly realise he was covered in dust from the training yard. Jaskier, however, iss not in the least bit bothered.

“Lambert!” he beams, throwing a companionable arm around his shoulders. “My knight in leather armour. I seem to have gotten a little bit turned around, could I trouble you for an escort to the library?” 

Lambert ducks his head slightly at the knight comment, a small smile briefly appearing. He made an extremely elegant leg, somehow managing to radiate cheerful sarcasm from his entire body, then offers his arm gallantly to Jaskier, before pausing. 

“Actually, if you have time, I could show you some parts of the keep Vesemir might not have? Geralt and Eskel are walking the horses a bit and they’ll probably head straight to the baths from there, but they’d be happy to spend time in the library with you afterwards.” 

Jaskier doesn’t hesitate, thrilled at the offer. “Of course, darling! Wherever you’d like to take me, I’m yours.” He watches, charmed, as Lambert ducks his head  _ again,  _ again trying to hide that helpless little smile. 

Lambert pushes down the shyness quickly, cleared his throat, and lifts his chin. “Lots of places I could take you, bard. All sorts of little nooks and hidden staircases still standing.”

He gently pulls Jaskier along, guiding him up to the first floor but bypassing the corridor with the bedchambers. Instead, they cut along a tiny hallway half-hidden by a tapestry and through a battered wooden door to find there was indeed, a hidden staircase. It had no windows as the stairs to the baths did, but there was a lantern and a stash of tallow candles by the door, evidently just for this purpose. A quick, controlled blast of  _ igni _ , (and Jaskier does have to repress his impressed arousal at how much control Lambert had over the sign) and they begin the climb, Lambert slipping his hand into Jaskier’s and leading the way with the lantern.

The stairs were crumbling and steep, almost like a ladder in places, but Lambert’s hand was strong in his and Jaskier didn’t worry for a second that he might stumble. 

At the top of the stairs a trapdoor was set into the ceiling. Lambert hooks the lantern on a deliberately placed hook and makes sure Jaskier has his footing before pushing it open, easily hauling himself up and reaching back to carefully help Jaskier through. Jaskier gasps as the cold air hits him, instinctively moving closer to Lambert, who promptly wraps a warm arm around his shoulders, any previous shyness forgotten and training dirt disregarded. 

They stood on a flat roof of stone, atop Kaer Morhen’s last surviving tower and Jaskier gapes, briefly left completely speechless. The view was truly astonishing, the air clear enough to see for miles over the valley, craggy mountains and wooded slopes and, in the distance, the crumbling remains of some old outpost. He was so entranced he forgot the cold for a moment, crossing to the wall, followed by Lambert, who crowds up behind him, making a windbreak of himself and also prudently gripping Jaskier’s waist, despite the fact that Jaskier was carefully not trusting any weight to the stone of the crenellations. 

“This is amazing,” Jaskier breathes, leaning back briefly into Lambert’s body until his attention was caught again by the distant sparkle of a lake.

“I know,” Lambert said, his voice quiet as he spoke next to Jaskier’s ear. This far up, there was no noise but the wind but he still leaned close to speak, as though sharing a secret. “No-one else ever really comes here but me. The walls are easier to get to if we’re keeping an eye on the Trail and there’d be no other reason to bother. If you’d like, we could come up here one night? You won’t get a better view of the stars from anywhere in the keep.” He rushes on, seemingly eager to reassure Jaskier. “I’ll make sure it’s nice for you! I’ll bring wine, if you like, and blankets and a brazier - shit, sorry, I know it’s cold here, I never really bother about it because it’s just me but I shouldn’t have - do you want to go back?”

Jaskier suddenly can’t bear the unsure tone in Lambert’s voice, turning and throwing his arms around Lambert’s waist. “I’d love to come back here with you, any time you like. I’ll bring a cloak but I don’t mind the cold, it’s worth it for all this.” He threw out a hand, indicating the vista behind him but keeping eye contact with Lambert, willing him to see the sincerity in his eyes. 

Lambert smiles hesitantly, before his face drops as Jaskier shivers. “Fuck,” he hisses. “I’m an idiot, I should have brought a cloak for you at least. I’m  _ sorry _ , Jaskier.” 

Unable to think of what else to do, Jaskier cuts off his self recrimination by the simple expedient of kissing him. Lambert gasps into his mouth, but moves past any surprise almost immediately, sliding one hand to the back of Jaskier’s neck as he kisses him back. Jaskier keeps it sweet and chaste, mindful of Geralt’s reminder that they needed to talk properly, and even more mindful of Eskel’s carefully worded warning. Still, he can’t help but be charmed that Lambert thought to bring him here to what is clearly a place of sanctuary for him. 

With that thought at the forefront, he ends the kiss, pulling back slowly to smile at Lambert. He didn’t think their conversation would go badly, but if it did, he certainly didn’t want to risk tainting this place for Lambert. He wet his lips, stifling the interested rush of heat in his belly as Lambert unconsciously copies him, pink tongue flicking out for an instant.

“I still haven’t unpacked properly,” he tries. “Would you mind walking me to Geralt’s room? I’d like to unpack my own soaps before joining Geralt and Eskel in the baths and I’ll make sure to dig out my very woolliest socks in anticipation of stargazing up here with you.” 

Lambert nods eagerly, moving to guide Jaskier back down through the trapdoor - a gesture that made Jaskier absolutely melt at the unthinking care being shown, never mind the awkward shuffle that followed to make sure Lambert was ahead of him on the stairs, ready to catch any wayward bards should his feet slip.

Jaskier was tempted to take his arm again as he follows Lambert to Geralt’s room, but thought better of it, feeling unaccountably nervous as they neared the door. Lambert seems more than happy to drop him at the door and leave him to it, but Jaskier doesn’t give him the chance, hauling Lambert in behind him and ensconcing him in the most comfortable of the chairs by the fire, before crossing straight to the messy pack he’s been living out of for the past two days and dumping it out. Lambert’s eye seems to twitch at Jaskier’s carefree approach to organisation but he swallows his first reaction and instead offers to lend Jaskier his mending kit to fix the pack’s loose buckle. 

Jaskier hums to himself, carefully not looking at Lambert as he rummages through the side pockets of his pack. He was more used to either very direct conversations with potential partners - a necessity to ensure all parties knew what to expect of the short dalliances on his travels - or the comfort of speaking with Geralt, who knows him better than anyone else. Lambert is neither one of these, and while Jaskier is already extremely fond of him, he doesn’t know him well enough to know where tender points may be. Eventually, he can’t draw out his search through his belongings any further and decides to just throw himself in head first.

“Lambert?” he starts, shuffling round on his knees until he’s facing the witcher, his little pack of precious soaps and oils clutched in his lap. “I’ve been thinking about the festival in Novigrad.”

Lambert draws in a quick breath. His expression is impossible to read. “So I have I,” he said quietly. He looks away from Jaskier’s face, looking down at his own clenched fists. He visibly swallowed before deliberately relaxing his hands and looking back at Jaskier. 

Jaskier forges on, determined to see it through. “I enjoyed being with you like that. If you’d like, I’d like to do it again. Even if you don’t want to go to bed again, I’d like to spend time with you this winter.” 

He was watching Lambert’s face carefully, otherwise he might have missed the tiny flash of hope in his eyes. Emboldened, he kept going. “If you do want to fuck me again, I want to take my time with you, now that we have the whole winter. I want to learn exactly what you like best and give it to you as much as you want. If you let me, I promise I can make you feel  _ so _ good, darling.”

He was slightly taken aback when Lambert interjected. “No!” he blurted, before cursing and starting again. “I mean,  _ yes _ , but. But you already did.” He shifts in his seat, searching for the right words before continuing in a small voice that makes Jaskier’s chest ache. “

“I’ve never felt so good before,” Lambert admits quietly, ears burning a dull red as he seemingly forces himself to meet Jaskier’s gaze. “I’ve fucked people before, but I always paid for it, or it was because someone wanted to know what it was like with a witcher, or it was - shit, it was always just scratching an itch and I thought that was all fucking  _ was _ . I didn’t realise I was missing something. Jaskier, I didn’t even know how good it could be until you. I want to make you feel that good. I want to know how to do that.”

Jaskier only just restrains himself from throwing his arms around the witcher. He manages to hold himself back but can’t quite squash the undoubtedly dopey smile on his face at Lambert’s quiet admission. The thought that their unsure, less than fulfilling sex was the best Lambert had ever had helps with that. He does rise and cross the room though, pulling Lambert to his feet for a kiss.

“Of course, darling. I’d be more than happy to talk you through  _ exactly _ what I like, you know I like nothing more than the sound of my own voice! Although -” He hesitates for a second, trying to think of a way to phrase his next suggestion in a way that wouldn’t send Lambert running for the hills, before thinking  _ fuck it _ and just going for it. “Or, I could show you?”

“Show me?” Trying to hide his interest, years of hard-learned caution colouring his words, Lambert watches Jaskier’s face as he waits for an answer. Jaskier reaches out, catching Lambert’s hand and kissing it briefly before holding it in both of his.

“Yes, darling, but  _ only _ if you want. I know Geralt wouldn’t mind, and I  _ definitely  _ enjoy an audience, so if you do want, I would love to put on a show for you. Learning by example, hmm?” Jaskier smiled at the last, trying to appear as gentle and receptive as possible, although he was sure Lambert could smell his nerves. He really was feeling his way through this in the dark, but he was very, very certain that he didn’t want to damage Lambert and Geralt’s relationship. From what he’d been able to glean from Eskel’s half-voiced warnings, Lambert both loved and was wary of Geralt, deep-set insecurities that were as likely to emerge as resentment or rejection than as a desire for acceptance. He wanted Geralt there with him with his years of knowing Lambert keeping them safe. 

“Yeah, okay. If you and Geralt are alright with it, then yes. I want that - you. Both of you.” 

Jaskier couldn’t keep the smile from his face as he leaned in to kiss Lambert again, managing somehow to keep it chaste. “Good. Thats - that’s good. Tonight?” He waits for Lambert’s nod before kissing him again, then takes his hand and leads him down to the baths.

***

Jaskier is so wound up he’s circled all the way back around to calm by the time all three of them are making their way to Geralt’s room that night. The fire is already lit but he lights the candles scattered around the room, half for something to do and half because he really, really wants to be able to see every single thing that happens in this room.

Once the final candle is lit, he turns, taking in every inch of Geralt and Lambert as they stand just inside the door, both watching him, Geralt patiently and Lambert looking like it’s taking an effort to stand still. Clearly it’s up to Jaskier to make the first move. Taking a deep breath, he presses himself up against Geralt, slipping a hand behind the witcher’s neck to pull their mouths together. Geralt growls into the kiss as Jaskier nips at his lip, refusing to let Geralt deepen it. Instead, he turns in Geralt’s arms until he can reach out and pull Lambert in too, kissing him and shuddering at the feeling of being pressed between the two witchers, hands at his waist and his arse and his jaw as he’s surrounded by strong bodies, Lambert kissing his mouth and Geralt kissing his neck. He gives himself over to it for a few blissful minutes, holding to Lambert’s shoulders and leaning against Geralt’s chest for support as he closes his eyes and groans. 

Eventually though, his arousal is too much to ignore and he wriggles out from between them, intending to move them all to the bed. Geralt catches him around the waist before he can take more than a single step though, hauling Jaskier back against him and putting his mouth to his ear.

“Mmm, I think not, bard,” he growls, his hot breath on Jaskier ear sending tingles down the bards spine. “You wanted to give Lambert a show, hmm? Then be a good boy and let me show him exactly how to make you scream.”

Jaskier knees actually give out for a second and Geralt  _ laughs _ , the bastard, although he does hold Jaskier steady. He presses a kiss to the soft skin behind Jaskier’s ear and grasps his chin, directing his gaze to Lambert. Lambert can’t seem to look away from the two of them, eyes dark and body tense as though he’s holding himself back, gaze flicking between Jaskier’s reddened mouth and the muscles in Geralt’s forearm as he holds Jaskier still. Jaskier gasps and Geralt laughs again, moving to unlace Jaskier’s breeches, watching as Lambert focuses completely on the practised movement of his fingers. 

Once unlaced, Geralt leaves them like that, ignores Jaskier’s cock even as the bard whines for a hand on it. Instead, he takes Jaskier by the hips and guides him the two steps forward into Lambert’s arms. “Kiss him,” he tells Lambert. “He likes to be kissed while he’s being undressed.”

Lambert does so with enthusiasm, taking Geralt’s lead and ignoring Jaskier’s cock, instead keeping one hand cupped around his jaw and the other on his waist, thumb stroking soft skin once Geralt works Jaskier’s shirt up and over his head. Ever efficient, Geralt shucks his own clothes as he undresses Jaskier, finally bending to pull Jaskier’s socks off before standing and taking Jaskier back into his arms. Jaskier just allows it, more than a little dazed at the constant soft touches from both of them and at the astonishingly arousing sensation of being held and kissed senseless as trusted hands strip him bare.

Geralt kisses his shoulder and looks up at Lambert, eyes dark but voice soft. “You too”, he says, nodding at Lambert’s clothes. Lambert swallows and nods, shrugging out of his shirt and kicking off his trousers as he follows them to Geralt’s bed. Geralt guides Jaskier into the middle, shifting to sit behind him so he’s leaning back against Geralt’s chest. Lambert kneels up onto the bed, shuffling forward until he’s between Jaskier’s calves, hands resting lightly on the bard’s thighs. He watches, biting his lips, as Geralt teasing his fingers through the curls around the base of Jaskier’s cock, his other hand pulling his thighs open wider as Jaskier squirms against him, soft moans turning to pleas as Geralt draws his hand up the vulnerable skin of his inner thighs.

“Geralt,  _ please _ ,” is all Jaskier can manage, head falling back on Geralt’s shoulder, twisting his fingers into the blanket in an effort not to just grab his own cock. 

“Shh,” Geralt murmurs, nudging him back up. “Look at Lambert.” Jaskier does, helpless not to and moans at what he sees. Lambert looks  _ wrecked _ already, cock hard and lips bitten red as he watches Geralt tease Jaskier. Jaskier’s own cock throbs in sympathy and he instinctively spreads his legs wider, hooking his ankles over Geralt’s calves and leaving himself totally exposed to Lambert’s avid gaze.

Lambert sways forward, eyes locked on Jaskier’s mouth and just barely holds himself back, stopping with one hand spread over Jaskier’s belly, fingertips trembling. He glances up at Geralt and Jaskier could  _ melt  _ at the intensity he sees there. Lambert’s voice is raspy when he speaks. “Please. Show me.” Jaskier swallows as he feels Geralt’s answering nod.

Lambert sits back on his heels, expression still intent as Geralt begins to touch Jaskier in earnest. He tips Jaskier’s chin up, presses soft, lush kisses to his throat that are a delicious contrast to his hands, one hand gripping his hips hard enough to bruise as he holds Jaskier in place, the other playing at his nipples. Jaskier whines low in his throat, tries futilely to writhe against Geralt’s grip, but Geralt’s hold is firm. He gasps as he feels Geralt’s chest rumble where he’s held tight against the witcher’s body.

“Hold him still for me. Touch him if you want but don’t touch his cock for now - he likes being made to wait.” Jaskier whimpers a protest and Geralt chuckles fondly, still teasing Jaskier’s nipples.. “He likes being made to wait and he likes _ complaining _ about waiting.” 

Lambert leans in early, one hand matching Geralt’s on Jaskier hip, the other gathering both of Jaskier’s wrists and holding him carefully but firmly. Jaskier hiccups a moan when he tugged and Lambert didn’t let go, he was caught, pinned between the two of them and he’d never felt so safe or so fucking turned on, he was a little afraid he might die of it. Lambert leans in to suck briefly at the nipple Geralt was currently not tormenting before pulling back and watching Geralt continue taking him apart, stroking teasingly over his cockhead, pressing a far-too-gentle finger behind his balls, taking turns with Lambert at running nails over his ribs and stomach, both of them groaning at the way it made his muscles jump and his cock twitch. 

Jaskier is almost sobbing when at least he feels Geralt hook a hand behind one of his knees, hoisting him up higher and spreading him just that little bit wider. Jaskier can feel the heat of Geralt’s cock under his ass but Geralt makes no move to get off, just looks at Lambert and says hoarsely, “Your turn.” He tugs Jaskiers hands free and holds them himself, keeping Jaskier steady against his chest. Lambert swallows, leans in and slides his hands so slowly up Jaskier’s thighs he wants to scream. He’s so careful as he leans in to kiss Jaskier, eyes flicking between Jaskier and Geralt, but he doesn’t tease any more, taking Jaskier’s mouth in a bruising kiss. Geralt hums, so obviously pleased that both Lambert and Jaskier shiver in pleasure. 

Lambert pulls back though, intent on Jaskier’s face as he runs his hands over his body, taking his cue from what Geralt showed him but still gauging Jaskier’s pleasure, stroking softly over his inner thighs, kissing the soft rise of flesh under his bellybutton, sucking careful marks across Jaskier’s shoulders and throat. He’s so determined to make it good for him, it makes Jaskier’s heart hurt.

Eventually, Jaskier reaches his limit for teasing, his arousal skirting the line between maddening and actually painful but Geralt senses the shift in his muscles before he has to say a word.

“Get him ready,” Geralt rumbles, reaching to grab the oil from its usual spot by the bed and passing it to Lambert. Lambert growls, opening it one handed even as he pets Jaskier’s shaking thigh, calming strokes from hip to knee. “You want it?” he manages, voice so low it’s almost a snarl. “Tell me you want my fingers, Jaskier.”

Jaskier throws his head back and wails as Lambert strokes one slick finger over his hole, half-teasing, half-waiting for a response. “Yes!” he sobbed. “Yes,  _ please _ , Lambert, I need you in me, please please  _ putyourfingersinmerightnow. _ ” Lambert groans and obeys, sliding two thick fingers straight in as Jaskier writhes against Geralt’s arms, soft gasps falling from his slack mouth as Lambert strokes and stretches him. Jaskier savours the stretch of taking two fingers, barely hears Geralt as he tells Lambert that Jaskier likes to have his cock sucked while he’s being prepared. He mewls in delight as he hears “Likes being kissed too, and this time you don’t have to pick one or the other, hmm?” before Geralt’s mouth is on his. For a while he floats, caught between Geralt’s mouth on his, his hand resting lightly on Jaskier’s neck and Lambert’s mouth on his cock and fingers in his arse, pleasure winding through and around him and leaving him dazed.

He comes back to himself when he feels Lambert carefully pull his fingers out, replacing them with his cock a moment later. Jaskier can feel Geralt as he reaches out around him, resting a hand on Lambert’s waist.

“Slow,” Geralt instructs. “He likes it slow the first time.” He’s right, Jaskier thinks fuzzily, almost glowing with affection for Geralt in that moment. He loves being able to savour every inch of that first, slow slide in. Lambert huffs an acknowledgement and lets Geralt guide his speed, pushing steadily but deliciously slowly into Jaskier, letting him feel every moment until Lambert bottoms out, hips flush against Jaskier’s arse. He stays there for a minute, head hanging between his shoulders and breath deliberately steady. Jaskier feels a quick flash of sympathy - both of them had been ignoring their own arousal to focus on Jaskier. He presses back against Lambert, encouraging him to move even as he wraps an arm around the witcher’s shoulders, pulling him down to rest their foreheads together. 

Lambert follows even the smallest hints from Jaskier’s body and Geralt’s hands, falling into the perfect rhythm as he kisses Jaskier. He fucks Jaskier deep but slow, witcher strength behind each thrust making Jaskier gasp. Eventually, they’re just sharing air, Jaskier mouth too slack for actual kissing. He can feel the tension in Lambert’s body and tightens his arms around him, clenching his hole as much as he can as Lambert groans, burying his face in Jaskier’s neck as he fights not to come, wrapping a hand around Jaskier’s cock and stroking. Jaskier puts his own hand over Lambert’s and guides him. Lambert learns fast even while he’s desperately staving off his own orgasm, swiping his thumb over Jaskier’s cockhead over and over until Jaskier just barely manages to gasp out “Yes, there. Right there,  _ dontstopdontstopdontstop _ !” before he comes so hard he loses his words, soft  _ ah ah ah _ s falling from his slack mouth as Lambert keeps stroking him, fucking into him hard once, twice before coming himself, gasping into Jaskier’s shoulder.

Jaskier barely has time to catch his breath before Lambert is kissing him again, hands cupping Jaskier’s face as he takes his mouth. Geralt slides one hand through Jaskier’s hair, and cups Lambert’s jaw with the other, drawing him away from Jaskier until he can kiss Lambert himself. Jaskier gapes as they kiss above him, suddenly sorry he can’t get hard again so quickly. He has to hand it to Geralt though, not only is the sight of him kissing Lambert scorchingly hot, it certainly neatly nips any potential awkwardness in the bud. 

Jaskier squirms out from between the two of them, shuffling down the bed until he’s level with Geralt’s neglected cock. He reaches out to stroke it, and looks up as Geralt pulls away from Lambert with a sigh. He waves a hand at the two of them as they look down at him. “No, no, you two carry on. I’m certainly not complaining about the view.” Geralt rolls his eyes at him even as he takes Jaskier’s hand, tangling their fingers together as he turns back and takes Lambert’s mouth again, letting the younger witcher press up against his side as they kiss. Jaskier, meanwhile, sees no reason to make Geralt wait any longer and leans down to take him in his mouth, sliding as far down as he can get without gagging. 

He works Geralt’s cock for a while, stroking what he can’t fit in his mouth and cupping his balls, pulling off for a moment to press kisses down his shaft and letting himself enjoy the sounds he can wring out of Geralt, pretty little moans that are muffled by Lambert’s mouth as Jaskier sucks teasing soft kisses to the head of his dick.

He plays with Geralt until he has him shuddering, struggling to keep his hips still and whining softly into Lambert’s mouth as Jaskier pulls off to blow lightly on his cockhead. Eventually, though, he takes pity, opening his throat and taking Geralt all the way down and holding him there, swallowing hard around him before pulling off to heave in a breath and taking him back down. It’s not long before Geralt squeezes his hand in silent warning, hips jerking as he comes down Jaskier’s throat with a grunt. Jaskier pulls back just enough to catch the final spurt on his tongue, eyes fluttering shut, before surging up to share the taste with Lambert. Geralt groans, hand tightening in Jaskier’s as he watches Lambert and Jaskier kiss above him, Lambert whining into Jaskier’s mouth as he tries to get more of Geralt’s taste.

Eventually, the evening’s exertions catch up to Jaskier and he lets himself flop down atop Geralt, nuzzling into his neck as he reaches out to pull Lambert close. 

Geralt tips Jaskier down into the space between himself and Lambert, starting to slide out of the bed for a cursory cleanup. Jaskier wraps himself around the nearest arm like a particularly needy snake, even as he can barely keep his eyes open. “Mmmm, no,” he mumbles. “Stay here.”

Geralt can’t hide his fond smile. “Gonna be sticky later,” he warns.

“Don’t care,” Jaskier says into his shoulder. 

“Can take a bath later,” Lambert offers, spooned up behind Jaskier and clearly not intending to go anywhere unless he’s dragged. 

Geralt knows when he’s beaten and relaxes back down, managing to extricate his arm from Jaskier’s sleepy hold to throw it over both of them, letting his hand rest on Lambert’s waist as Jaskier snuggles down between them, clearly already mostly asleep. They’ll need food later, as well as a bath, but right now, he’s content to drift off surrounded by the scent of contented happiness from both of them. Everything else can wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read this whole thing, thank you so much! I have a LOT happening in my life right now and I honestly would not have had the motivation to finish this without your kudos, comments, bookmarks, subscriptions. THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU.

**Author's Note:**

> This is absolutely me distracting myself from a thesis and from a security+ exam, so please feel free to offer concrit or prompts in the comments - I'm open to most pairings.


End file.
